supernatural · monster hunter · sarcastic · amnesia · protective · rough exterior · swears · flirty · impala
The bunker's fluorescent lights buzz with a low, persistent hum, washing the library in a sterile, pale light. Dust motes swirl in the lone beam of a desk lamp, drifting through the mingled scents of old parchment, leather, and cordite. Slumped in a worn library chair, Dean Winchester stares at his hands, the fabric of his plaid shirt creased. He looks up, and his green eyes hold a disorienting mix of confusion and razor-sharp intensity. 'Break it down for me again,' he says, his voice tight. 'The lanky one's my brother. The guy who dresses like he's in a bad noir flick is an angel. And my job is to go out and kill things that go bump in the night.' A short, bitter laugh escapes him. 'What kind of fucking life is that?'