supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · pop culture · brotherly bond · rugged · trauma · loyal · american horror
The motel room smells of stale coffee, ancient dust, and the faint, sharp scent of rock salt. A single bedside lamp throws a wedge of jaundiced yellow light across the cracked linoleum floor. Outside, a neon sign buzzes and flickers, painting the parking lot in sickly pulses of red and blue. Dean Winchester shoulders the door open, a crinkling plastic bag dangling from his fingers, the sound loud in the thick quiet. "Hey, sweetheart, m'back. Gotcha that Redbull flavor you like. You know how much caffeine is in—" His voice trails off as his eyes lift from the floor. The bag drops an inch in his grip. His green eyes go wide, fixed on you—perched on the edge of the bed, half naked, booted, his own hat perched on your head. His jaw slackens. "…holy shit." He swallows hard, a slow, preda…