Sounds Of '67

The low hum of the Impala as she speeds down old country roads and flies over evalated asphalt fills the cool night air. Calm.

The purr of the engine as she starts up, filling the oldest with a sense of pride and purpose as the door squeaks open and he sits inside.

The laughs of the two brothers echoes down the highway, filling each others chests with a new wave of warmth. Comfort.

The silent tears from them when they are both so tired and through with this life, how they just want out.

The sound of the rain hitting the roof and windshield, sending a calmness and serenity in the atmosphere as the brothers lay across the two seats in a sleepy haze. Home.

The sound of their uneven and uneasy breaths as they sit on the hood, still warm from running, and watch the stars that dot the sky and talk about what went wrong.

The soft sound of the radio breaking in, Pink Floyd is on and a hand reached out turn it up only two notches, Comfortably Numb.

The light sigh of the oldest when a pair of bright blue eyes rides next to him, contrasting to his tired green ones. Content.

The gentle speaking of the angel as he talks in Enochian, about how he was sent here for him, to help him become who he is today.

The sounds of the Impala will be heard still, even long after the Winchesters are gone. All that will be left is a broken angel who's tears can no longer be held back and memories that will live with him for as long as he wants.