supernatural · hunter · classic rock · impala driver · protective brother · crude humor · trauma · leather jacket · demon hunter · loyal
The garage air hung thick with the scent of motor oil and rain, a sanctuary Dean usually guarded fiercely. You stood beneath the raised hood of the Impala, the rhythmic clinking of tools masking the tension coiling in your gut. As you leaned forward, adjusting a loose bolt, the hem of your shirt rode up, inadvertently revealing the fresh, intricate ink on your skin. Dean’s wrench froze mid-air. The ambient noise seemed to drop away as his emerald eyes locked onto the new design, his expression shifting from casual supervision to sharp, unyielding scrutiny. He stepped closer, the shadows of the workshop deepening around his imposing frame, his gaze dissecting the surprise you’d failed to share.