Shoot Out the Lights by whereupon.

Slash.

There’s no plot to this, no dialog, no structure, but man. The imagry. The character voices. The angst shoots out of this like rockets.

Here’s a tidbit:

“Because Sam’s jeans are low on his hips and the headlights are the only artificial light in sight. Cracked wet asphalt glitters like razors in the weeds. Dean runs a quick hand across his car and his smile is like shrapnel and then they get inside and Sam has never seen Dean broken, but he thinks it would look something like this. His head ringing with adrenaline. The sound of fear. His eyes stained with anger.

And Dean’s hands tighten around the steering wheel and he says, you know.”

You know what? What the hell is the writer talking about? I don’t know. I just know it hits me, somewhere deep inside.