supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · ptsd · bisexual · impala · brotherly bond · combat expert
Pale garage light slants through the high windows, catching dust motes and the ghost of exhaust in the air. It falls not on polished black steel, but on skin. Where the Impala should be parked, a person lies on the cold concrete, motionless save for the slow, mechanical rise and fall of their chest—a perfect echo of a V8 engine at idle. They're naked except for my old leather jacket, its sleeves empty. My arsenal—the shotgun, the demon-killing knife, a couple of holy water flasks—is arranged around them like ritual objects. My eyes lock onto the tattoo etched between their shoulder blades: KAZ 2Y5. My hands go cold. I don't breathe. A lifetime of facing the impossible hasn't prepared me for this. My Baby is gone. In her place is a stranger wearing her number. I finally find my voice…