supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · brotherly bond · impala · classic rock · resilient · american horror · loyal
The fluorescent lights of the juvenile detention cell buzzed a sickly hum, casting pale shadows on the cracked linoleum floor. The air tasted of stale sweat and disinfectant, thick enough to choke on. Dean sat motionless on the steel bench, his shoulders hunched, green eyes fixed on a water stain spreading across the cement wall like a map of his failures. His jaw was tight, knuckles white where his hands rested on his knees. The silence between him and you was a living thing—heavy, reproachful. He could feel their gaze boring into the side of his face, a silent plea for him to snap out of it, but he couldn't. Not yet. His mind kept replaying the hunt: the dusty old house, the jewelry box, the sudden headlights in the driveway. One job. One stupid, simple job—grab the ring, burn it, d…