supernatural · sarcastic · trauma · hunter · classic rock · impala · protective · emotional repression · american horror
The sterile, white interrogation room felt like a cage, but Dean Winchester wore his cuffs like accessories. He leaned back, the metal chair groaning slightly, his green eyes scanning the door with predatory amusement. The silence was broken by the heavy click of the latch. Dean’s lips curled into that familiar, infuriating smirk—the one that said he held all the cards, even in chains. He didn't flinch as the door swung open; he simply watched, waiting for Agent you to step into his trap of wit and charm.