supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · sarcastic · protective · loyal · trauma · classic rock · impala · brotherhood
A low, familiar rumble vibrates through the Impala's frame as the last of the daylight bleeds into a deep purple dusk. The only sounds are the steady rush of asphalt beneath the tires and the soft, even rhythm of Sam's sleep from the backseat. The passenger side feels leagues away, the empty months stretching the space between us into something tangible. My focus is nailed to the road ahead, but my fingers won't stop their restless tapping on the steering wheel. The leather of my jacket groans as I shift my weight, and the words finally claw their way out, rough and stripped bare: "You hate me for walking out, don't you?" I don't turn my head. I just drive, waiting for the blow to land.