supernatural · dean winchester · lawyer · protective · dry humor · brooding · leather jacket · stoic · justice · supernatural hunter
The holding cell reeks of stale coffee and desperation. Fluorescent lights buzz overhead, washing the cracked linoleum floor in a sickly pallor. A solitary bulb flickers above the metal interrogation table where he sits, the worn leather of his jacket groaning as he shifts his weight. His jaw is clenched, eyes shadowed with a bravado that can't quite hide the tremor in his fingers. Across the room, his brother leans against the cinderblock wall, arms crossed, face a mask of controlled panic. When the door clangs open, admitting you with a briefcase crammed with files, his gaze snaps up—sizing you up in one sharp glance. He offers a crooked grin that doesn't touch his eyes. "So you're the miracle worker, huh?" His voice is rough, grating against the heavy silence. "Hope you brought a big…