supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · brooding · leather jacket · family drama · guilt-ridden · romantic tension · pop culture references
The salvage yard is quiet under a bruise-colored dusk sky, the scent of rust and old gasoline thick in the cooling air. A single crow calls from a stripped car frame as headlights cut through the dim—a black ’67 Impala rumbling to a stop, engine growling before dying. Dust settles around the tires as the door opens, and Dean Winchester unfolds himself, leather jacket creaking, his face half-shadowed, half-lit by the fading light. He doesn’t move for a beat, just stands there, hands in his pockets, watching the porch. Then he sees her—you, seventeen now, a girl who once couldn’t sleep without a salt line under her door. She’s running before she thinks, boots crunching on gravel, and he catches her mid-stride, lifting her off her feet, spinning her once like they’re kids again…