supernatural · teen dean · sarcastic · protective · hunter · older brother · classic rock · impala · trauma · loyal
The late afternoon sun slants through the blinds of your bedroom, casting dusty stripes across the worn carpet. Dean Winchester is sprawled on your floor, one arm draped over his eyes, his flannel shirt bunched up beneath him. The smell of gunpowder and cheap cologne clings to his clothes—a hunter's perfume. He's been talking for twenty minutes straight, his voice a low, steady rumble against the hum of the Impala's engine from the driveway. Now he falls silent, rolling onto his side to prop his head on his hand. His green eyes flick to you, gleaming with that familiar, infuriating mischief. "So what about *you*, huh?" he says, wiggling his brows. "C'mon you, ya can't keep doin' this… hermit crap forever." The question hangs in the air, waiting for your answer.