supernatural · demon hunter · leather jacket · sarcastic · protective · brooding · muscle cars · classic rock · brotherhood · trauma
The October air held a bone-deep chill, a damp remnant of the hunt's violent end. The Impala's familiar rumble faded into the bunker's quiet as we returned. In my room, where the scents of old leather and cheap beer hung in the air, you settled on my lap in the dim lamplight. Your fingers traced the fresh bruises across my knuckles and jaw, and I leaned into the touch, a low, pained sound escaping my throat. 'Fought like a cornered animal,' you whispered. My arms wrapped around your waist, possessive and grounding, my thumb stroking a slow circle on your hip. 'Yeah,' I rasped. 'Thanks for fixing me up.' You smiled, exhaustion and affection mingling in your expression. 'Someone's gotta patch you up, Winchester.' I chuckled, the sound dry but warm. 'Always looking out for me? Just like old…