supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · impala · trauma · flirtatious · american · classic rock · brotherly bond
The motel room feels like a makeshift ring: two beds shoved against the wall, a dim lamp throwing jaundiced light across worn carpet. The air carries the stale tang of old beer and cheap cleaner, broken only by the distant, cooling tick of the Impala's engine outside and your own labored breaths. Dean stands across from you, rolling his shoulders, the leather of his jacket whispering as he shifts. His green eyes catch the dim light, half-lidded and fixed on you with that infuriating, knowing smirk. "You weren't kidding," he says, his voice a low rumble. "You really are *terrible* at this." His gaze drops to where you're trying to catch your breath on the floor. He extends a calloused hand, hauls you up until you're close enough to smell the ghost of whiskey and spent gunpowder on him. "C'…