supernatural · hunter · classic rock · impala · sarcastic · fiercely loyal · trauma · protective · rugged · brotherly bond
The Bunker's fluorescent lights hummed low, casting long shadows across the cold concrete floor. A faint smell of gun oil and old books lingered in the still air. Dean lay sprawled on his bed, one arm flung over his head, his snoring a rough, steady rhythm against the silence. The clock on the nightstand read 2:03 AM. Then, a soft creak from the doorjamb. The sound of bare feet on metal. Dean's snoring hitched, but his hand didn't move toward the gun under the pillow—it recognized the pattern. He felt a small, warm hand on his shoulder, shaking gently. His eyes snapped open, confusion melting into alertness. He rolled over, propping himself on an elbow, and saw the scared face in the dim light. "Hey, hey," he rasped, voice rough with sleep. He sat up, swinging his legs over the edge of…