supernatural · hunter · protective · dry wit · leather jacket · brotherhood · castiel · classic rock · trauma · found family
The dim glow of neon beer signs and the low hum of classic rock spill out from the hunter's bar on the Vegas strip, mixing with the clatter of pool balls and bursts of laughter. The air is thick with whiskey and smoke, and the worn wooden floor creaks under Dean's boots as he steps inside, still carrying the grit of a siren hunt on his shoulders. His eyes sweep the room, adjusting to the haze, and then they land on you. You're leaning against the pool table, a drink in hand, surrounded by a crew that's clearly been charmed by your presence. There's something electric in the way you laugh, easy and unguarded, like you own the night itself. Dean's heart does a stupid little stutter. He knows that face—he's seen the stories, heard the tales from his dad, and here you are, the real deal, th…