Disclaimer: I am not monetarily compensated for writing sad shit like this.

A/N: This is my first hartwin angst fic. I didn't want to do it, but at the rate it's stirring around in my head it would drive me batshit insane if I didn't write it out. Please don't hate me. And oh, listen to Chasing Cars by Snow Patrol if you want to drown in feels.

Chasing Cars

He was running, a blur of grey as he shot through the corridors, weaving around people who got in the way, sparse though they may be.

Harry Hart entered his life like a storm, first as the beginnings of a sad breeze that brought him the last remnant he would ever have of his father's, and after a few years he was the flash of lightning in a spectacular show of fists and umbrellas and electricity and darts; of unparalleled grace in the wake of a violent dance. Not far behind came the clap of thunder in the form of his voice as it cut through the terror of Dean's knife held against his and his mother's throats. He got sucked into the hurricane of the adrenaline-filled life of espionage and roses and guns and dogs, and somewhere along the way he was swept off his feet only to spiral into the tornado of his own emotions, into that violent and exhilarating force of nature that is love.

He was bleeding and tired, so, so tired, but he couldn't stop—not for anything. Even if his feet weighed him down like lead and his legs screamed at every flex of muscle, he ran. His open wounds protested and gaped, and still, he ran.

Harry Hart was the man who hung the stars and the moon in the sky, and nobody could tell him otherwise. He was the man who saw a courageous, honourable, and loyal man in the brash, unrefined chav boy too close to giving up on believing that he could ever have a better life, much less a brighter future. He was the man who gave gentlemanly lessons in the most gentlemanly way possible, all charming and proper and gorgeous and hot and no, he did not care that it was largely inappropriate to say such things even in the privacy of his own thoughts. He was the man he thought he could have had a future with, had they had enough time, but that was stolen by a single gunshot on a beautiful day outside of a church full to bursting with hate.

He couldn't stop, even if he wanted to. He never wanted to. He would never want to. Not until he was where he needed to be.

Harry Hart broke his heart through the disappointment and weariness in his voice, through the hurt in Harry's eyes from the words that spilled forth from his own unfiltered mouth. He shattered each and every dream of having lazy Sunday mornings all cuddled up in classy wine-red sheets, of every night spent in the rapture of ecstasy, of every other day spent in unadulterated domestic bliss that would make everybody else sick from the sweetness of it all when the video feed bled red and tilted to show the sky and stayed pointed there; and he couldn't do anything, couldn't say anything. There was a big hole of nothing in his chest and he couldn't make it go away, and even if he stuffed it full of hate and vengeance and focused it to a lethal point to kill the bastard who stole everything from him—because yes, Harry fucking Hart is everything to him—the void just consumed all else when his hatred was spent.

And so he ran and ran and ran, oxford-clad feet slapping against the flooring in staccato beats, amplified in lonely echoes through the corridors.

Harry Hart put him back together again when he made himself known to be miraculously alive, when he opened his eyes in a small, relatively unknown hospital in Kentucky, when he smiled that smile that sent the whole sun to fill the gaping chasm in his chest, when he beckoned him over for a warm embrace, still as gentlemanly as ever, not minding the mess of tears and snot and the armful of a broken boy—no, man, he was a man now—who held onto him like he was a dream he never ever wanted to wake from. Harry let him stick by his side until he was finally convinced that yes, this was real, that he wasn't just a ghost or a phantom invoked by his grieving, pining mind: that Harry was here to stay, and that they would get back the time so rudely stolen from them. Harry mended the fissures in his very essence when he didn't make things difficult for them to get together, and it made sense, really, especially since Harry himself had experienced how fickle fate can be, how feeble a human life was. They healed each other through lazy Sunday mornings all cuddled up in classy wine-red sheets, through every night spent in the rapture of ecstasy, through every other day spent in unadulterated domestic bliss that made everybody else sick from the sweetness of it all.

But then he arrived and he had to slow down. He had reached the open door and everyone was there, but he never saw them. Right now, nothing else mattered but that man who was his whole world, so he stepped into the room with heavy footfalls despite the numbness that slowly settled in his nerves, despite the slight ringing in his ears from the thick and heavy silence that engulfed the whole place like a suffocating cocoon.

Harry Hart was a dream come true, he was the whole damn universe that somehow fit inside one person, and it was fucking amazing because he was all his and he got to keep him and he was all Harry's too so they belonged to each other, like puzzle pieces that just fit and he could try to wax poetic about all this but everyone knows he ain't the posh kind who does that. But then they were faced with this and everything just falls away and there is nothing but Harry and him, and that's all that really matters, innit?

His mouth turned up at the edges in a beautiful bow, the way it would whenever he looked at him; his gaze softened as his eyes traced every little well-aged line on his face; his expression radiating so much love and adoration but now with a wistful touch of pure sadness that others had the urge to turn their eyes away from the scene that was probably the most heartbreakingly beautiful thing they would ever see. He stroked his cheeks reverently and leaned over to press the sweetest kiss on cold, unresponsive lips and continued to look at him like he was the most precious thing in existence. He gently deposited himself next to his whole world and curled on his side as he tucked his head under a perfectly shaved chin and just breathed in the scent that he swore he would never forget for the rest of his life; his fingers clutched at the favoured red robe like a child seeking comfort from the monsters that hid under the bed. He felt the fatigue set in as his eyes grew heavy, so he simply nuzzled at his neck like he always did and let himself fall asleep pressed against the man he loved with his entire being, knowing that this was the last time and he won't wake up to morning kisses and cosy warmth because he would be taken away and nothing would ever be the same. But that didn't matter now that they lay together, because he could forget the world for at least this moment and exist just for the two of them; and he would keep it in his grasp until he couldn't anymore, but for now… For now this was all he had and he would take it.

A/N: If it's any consolation, I was crying almost the whole time I was writing this. Scold me here or yell at me on ao3 or tumblr.