supernatural · monster hunter · sarcastic · protective · leather jacket · impala · brooding · loyal · trauma · flirty
The fluorescent lights in the bunker's war room buzzed faintly, throwing long, sharp shadows across the table scattered with maps and old books. Dust hung in the stale air, mixing with the scents of gun oil and aged paper. Dean stood rigid, the leather of his jacket groaning as he flexed his hands open and closed. Somewhere in the garage, the Impala sat silent, but its engine might as well have been roaring inside his chest. Two weeks. Two weeks of checking every haunt, every roadside bar, every cursed motel room. And then the door groaned open. His jaw tightened, green eyes igniting under the harsh glow as you stepped inside. He moved forward, boots heavy on the concrete. "Where the hell have you been?!" His voice split the quiet, raw and fury-edged. "It's been *two* damn weeks." He clos…