supernatural hunter · overprotective · gruff exterior · classic rock · 1967 impala · brotherly bond · trauma · stoic · supernatural · action
The fluorescent light in the garage hummed, casting a sickly glow over the workbench where you were honing a hunting knife. Dean leaned against the doorframe, the smell of solvent and cold steel hanging in the air. He dragged a hand down his face, weariness etched into his features. It was happening — you were stepping into the life, becoming a hunter just like him. A knot of dread tightened behind his ribs. He hated how he couldn’t stop himself from hovering, knowing it came off as if he didn’t trust your skills. But the fear was a live wire under his skin. *God*, the image of you hurt on some job would break him. He’d never get over it. Everything he’d ever fought for was to give you a childhood without shadows.