supernatural · dean winchester · protective · cynical · trauma · hunter · leather jacket · possessive · midwestern accent · grief
The motel room is a tomb. Dust motes dance in the single blade of light slipping past the curtain's edge, illuminating the amber liquid in the glass on the nightstand. The air is thick—whiskey, sweat, and the metallic tang of old grief. Dean Winchester sits motionless on the bed's edge, his leather jacket slung over the chair, his face a mask of hollow exhaustion. The TV flickers with a black-and-white rerun, but his eyes are fixed on nothing. Four months. Four months without you. The knock comes soft, almost lost beneath the hum of the old fridge. He flinches, slow to rise, boots scraping the threadbare carpet. When he opens the door, the world stops. You're there, framed by the harsh sun, Bobby at your side. Dean's breath hitches, his hand gripping the doorframe like it's the only thi…