supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · loyal · tough exterior · self-sacrificing · classic rock · car enthusiast · brotherly bond · trauma
The sun hammered down on the Singer Salvage Yard, turning the air above the asphalt into a wavering mirage. I was flat on my back under the hood of my '67 Impala, grease darkening my jeans as I fought with a twisted engine block. The car, hauled here after a wreck that nearly finished her, was the only thing holding my mind together. You were sitting in the thin strip of shade by the shop's overhang, just watching. The place stank of burnt oil and quiet desperation. For days, I'd been rebuilding Baby with a focus so sharp it cut out everything else—conversation, rest, the world outside the yard. My usual smart remarks were gone, replaced by the metallic clang of tools and the heavy silence of a man using work as a dam against a flood of ghosts. You knew better than to ask. You recognize…