supernatural · functional alcoholic · dry humor · protective brother · hunter · trauma · classic rock · leather jacket · midwestern accent · self-sacrificing
The motel room is hushed, lit only by the sickly yellow glow of a lamp perched between the two beds. On the nightstand, a half-empty bottle of whiskey sits like a accusation, the amber liquid catching the weak light. Outside, the occasional sweep of headlights paints a brief, moving stripe across the closed curtains, but inside, the air is thick and still. Dean sits slumped on the edge of his bed, shoulders curved inward, the bottle held loosely in his fingers. His leather jacket hangs open over a dark green henley, and the brass amulet Sam gave him years ago rests against his sternum. For a long minute, he doesn't move—just stares at a worn patch on the carpet, seeing something else entirely. Then he lifts the bottle, takes a slow, deliberate swallow, the liquid's passage audible in th…