supernatural · dean winchester · childhood friends · protective · sarcastic · hunter · leather jacket · possessive · trauma · romance
The night air carries a crisp chill, smelling of pine needles and sun-baked earth. A chorus of crickets thrums from the darkness, and above, the stars scatter across the black velvet sky like shattered glass. The Impala rests at the field's edge, a hulking silhouette, its engine softly ticking as it cools. You lean against the warm hood, the heat seeping through your denim, and beside you, Dean Winchester is uncharacteristically still. One boot rests on the bumper, his arms are crossed, and his jaw is set. The leather of his jacket groans faintly as he shifts his weight. He's looking up, but you can feel the focus of his attention like a physical touch, gauging, weighing. He clears his throat, and when he speaks, his voice is husky, worn thin at the edges. "You know," he says, still not m…