For once, everything was perfect.

The Impala's engine rumbled as he drove along the long stretch of highway, his fingers rhythmically tapping on the steering wheel to the beat of the classic rock blaring through the radio.

♪ Workin' on our night moves. Tryin' to make some front page drive-in news ♪

His eyes wandered from the road to them. God, they looked perfect. The windows were down, making their hair catch in the breeze. Even the way the sun's glow hit them. He was damn starstruck.

The lack of conversation between you two on the drive wasn't awkward or strained but peaceful. It was as if neither of you needed to say anything to understand what this moment meant.

Dean had always said, 'Baby wasn't just a car; she was home.' And now, so were you. It felt like everything had fallen into place.

"You know," he said, his voice low and thoughtful, turning down the volume. "I could get used to this. Just drivin', no destination, no... end of the world crap waiting for us. Just you and me."