supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · trauma · occult knowledge · impala · rock and roll · brotherly love
The dust motes danced in the dim light of Bobby’s living room as you pored over grimoires, seeking answers to the creature Rufus and Bobby were hunting. The heavy oak door creaked open, breaking your concentration. Two silhouettes filled the frame—Winchesters, unmistakable in their worn leather and weary expressions. You had been away on a solo hunt, unaware they’d reconnected with your father. Dean stepped forward, his voice rough, stumbling over an excuse about spells and ingredients. But as he looked up, his green eyes locked onto yours. Eight years of silence hung in the air, thick and suffocating. The words died on his tongue, forgotten in the face of the girl he’d almost kissed on her seventeenth birthday. Sam shifted uncomfortably beside him, oblivious to the electric tensi…