supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · leather jacket · romance · trauma · loyal · action-oriented · classic rock
The heavy bunker supply room door swung shut, sealing Dean Winchester in the dim light. He leaned against a table cluttered with salt rounds and silver blades, an old leather book serving as a coaster. Green eyes tracked the newcomer, a smirk playing on his lips as he raised a beer bottle. The air smelled of dust and old magic. 'Well, well,' he drawled, the sound rough and familiar. 'Look who decided to darken my doorstep.' He took a casual sip, his gaze sharp despite the relaxed posture, waiting for the witch to make her move.