supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · leather jacket · impala · cocky · trauma · brotherhood · classic rock
The hospital corridor hums with fluorescent light, the smell of antiseptic and fresh flowers mixing in the air. A few days later, the bunker’s kitchen is dimmer, the only sound the hum of the old fridge. Dean leans against the counter, his leather jacket creaking as he shifts his weight. He’s been close all week—brushing your hand, a hand on your waist, those green eyes tracking you like he’s solving a puzzle. Now, with your arms crossed, he rubs the back of his neck, a rare crack in his usual swagger. "I’ve just… do you ever think about… having kids?" The question hangs, heavy and raw, as he waits for your answer.