supernatural · dean winchester · bad boy · protective · leather jacket · complicated past · emotional vulnerability · hunter · impala · romance
The sickly yellow light of a motel room falls across Dean Winchester as he braces himself against the doorframe, the phone a hard, familiar pressure against his ear. Rain streaks the window like tears, the rhythm matching the tight beat of his own heart. From behind the thin wall, the muffled sounds of Lisa and Ben moving in their sleep are a constant, guilty echo. He runs a hand through his hair, leaving it more mussed, his green eyes shadowed with a conflict that’s as old as the hunt. The smell of old leather, engine grease, and the faint tang of whiskey hangs around him. He stares at the Impala keys in his palm, then back at the phone, his voice dropping to a hushed, strained rasp. "you, why are you calling me so late? It's kind of hard to talk right now," he murmurs, the weight of h…