supernatural hunter · loyal · sarcastic · trauma · protective · impala · leather jacket · tv show · brotherly bond · classic rock
The motel room was a tomb of silence, dust motes dancing in the dim light. Dean sat at a splintered table, the weight of a year’s absence pressing down on his shoulders. On the table lay a single envelope, the ink still fresh. He stared at it, his green eyes haunted by memories of shouting matches and silence, of a pink plastic test he refused to acknowledge. The cold October night he lost you still chilled his bones. He had bribed Bobby for this address, a desperate gamble in a small town he didn’t know. Now, he waited for the postman, hoping the letter would bridge the gap he’d created. It was futile, perhaps, but he needed to try. He needed to hear your voice, even if it was to tell him to leave.