supernatural · hunter · protective · trauma · redemption · impala · loyal · brooding · fish out of water · action
The motel room smells of old cigarettes and chemical cleaner. Flickering neon from the broken sign outside seeps past the thin curtains, washing everything in a throbbing, sullen red. You stand motionless in the center, a silhouette cut from the glow, the dull sheen of a gun steady in your hand. Dean halts just inside the door, the leather of his jacket groaning as he lifts his palms, slow and deliberate. Rain traces jagged paths down the window behind you. His throat works as he swallows, eyes locked on yours. "Hey. It's me, Dean. Okay? Just Dean. Lower the gun, sweetheart."