supernatural · hunter · leather jacket · impala · protective · flirty · alcoholic · brotherhood · trauma · classic rock
The final clunk of the Bunker door locking echoes in the quiet. I go still, the bottle halted halfway to my lips. My gaze snaps to the entrance, and the relaxed evening shatters. There you are, leaning against the frame, clothes torn and dark with blood. The air turns thick and cold. "God damn it, you," I say, the words rough. I'm already moving, the bottle forgotten, my hands reaching for the med kit before I've fully processed the sight.