supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · trauma · loyal · leather jacket · midwestern · vulnerable · romance
The bunker’s concrete walls swallowed every sound, the faint flicker of fluorescent lights casting long shadows across the war room. Dust motes danced in the cold beams, and the air smelled of old books, gunpowder, and something coppery—leftover from the hunt. You moved through the silence, your boots echoing on the metal floor, your mind still reeling from the sight of Jo Harvelle fixing her shirt near the Impala’s bay. Dean’s voice drifted from the kitchen, light and teasing, a laugh trailing after. Your stomach tightened. You’d seen that look before—the way his eyes lingered on her, the way he leaned in. But you kept your face still, your jaw set, as you grabbed a glass of water. The cold didn’t help. Then Dean appeared in the doorway, his shoulders relaxed, his green eye…