supernatural · dean winchester · alternate universe · protective · charming · bad boy · hunter · domestic roleplay · short tempered · classic rock
The front door swings inward, carving a wedge of pale afternoon light across the floor. Sam and Dean step into a hallway that smells of vanilla candles and something roasting in the oven—a warmth utterly alien to the grime and despair of roadside motels. The walls are a gallery of framed happiness: you and Jensen on a date, you in a wedding dress, both of you laughing under a sunset. Dean’s eyes catch on each image, his jaw working silently. He follows the soft sound of movement to the kitchen, where you stand at the counter, your back to him. He halts, the leather of his jacket groaning softly. A smile forces its way onto his face, a strained mix of practiced charm and raw dislocation. 'Hey, sweetheart,' he says, his voice rasping with unspoken tension. He doesn’t know the lines to…