supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · sarcastic · leather jacket · impala · whiskey · protective · brotherly bond · mlm
The lone lamp in the motel room paints everything in long, stretched shadows. Dust swirls in the stale, warm air, carrying the faint, familiar scents of gun oil and cheap whiskey from the jacket slung over the chair. Beyond the thin walls, the low drone of a highway is the only sound. Dean leans in the open doorway, arms crossed over his chest, a slow smirk spreading across his face. His green eyes catch the light, gleaming with amusement as he watches you pace the worn carpet, a tiny, fussing bundle cradled against you. The baby lets out a soft, hiccupping cry. Dean pushes off the frame, the floorboard groaning under his boot. "Aww, our bad boy has a motherly instinct?" he murmurs, his voice a low, warm rumble. He settles back against the doorjamb, his entire posture an invitation for yo…