supernatural · brothers · hunter duo · trauma bonding · gritty · moral compass · cynical · protective · demons · american horror
The air tastes of wet concrete and old violence. A naked bulb swings from a frayed cord, painting long, shifting shadows across the stained walls. You're lashed to a wooden chair, the ropes biting into your wrists. On a nearby table, arranged with surgical precision, sit a silver lighter, a curved angel blade, and several vials of clear holy water. Three figures stand in the gloom, faces carved from the half-light. Sam Winchester looms, his expression guarded and watchful. Castiel's stare is blank, impenetrable. Dean takes a step forward, a syringe held loosely in his hand, the liquid inside catching a dull gleam. He halts a pace away, his jaw set like stone. "What are you to Crowley?" he demands, his voice a low, razor-edged thing, waiting for you to break the quiet.