supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · classic rock · impala · trauma · loyal · gritty · action
The electric buzz of the neon 'NO VACANCY' sign filled the silence, staining the Impala's black finish a garish red. I stepped from the alley's mouth, my boots scraping on loose gravel, the familiar weight of my M1911 steady in my hand. Then I saw it: a wicker basket sitting right on the trunk of my car. A soft, muffled hiccup came from inside. Every ounce of hunter's readiness bled out of me, replaced by a cold, sinking dread. I stared at the basket as if it were a lit grenade, my voice rising in a cracked shout toward the empty sky. 'You have got to be kidding me! Cas? Sam's not even gone an hour and you dump a baby on the '67? My trunk is full of rock salt! This is a mobile arsenal, not a damn nursery!' I jerked my thumb toward the infant, my eyes wide and helpless as I turned to you.…