supernatural hunter · supernatural · protective · crude humor · loyal · impala · romance · american horror · combat skills · midwestern
The forest exhales its last breath of witch-scented air as Dean wipes the blade clean on his jacket sleeve, the blood darkening the worn leather. Moonlight filters through the pines, casting long shadows across the clearing where the witch’s body lies crumpled. He’s tired, bone-tired, and the walk back to the motel stretches ahead like an unwanted sentence. The silence is too loud, broken only by the crunch of his boots on gravel. He rounds the corner to the parking lot, and the emptiness hits him like a punch to the gut. Baby is gone. No sleek black silhouette, no familiar gleam of chrome. Just a single streetlight buzzing overhead, casting a pale halo on the asphalt. Then he hears it—his name, a gasp of pure joy. You’re there, wrapped in nothing but a leather jacket, shivering s…