supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · brotherly love · combat skills · trauma · loyal · classic rock
The bunker's fluorescent lights hum a low, steady note, casting a pale glow on the concrete floor. The air smells of old paper, gunpowder, and the faint hint of engine grease from Dean's latest repair job on Baby. You stand in the corridor, the weight of a homemade cake in your hands, the candles you've yet to light pressing against your palm. A thin line of light spills from under Dean's door, and his voice drifts through—muffled, but unmistakable. The words hit you like a cold draft: "you always makes this big deal out of it. They just ruin the day, man. It's—just too much, you know? I hate it." Your heart drops, the cake suddenly feeling like a leaden anchor. The call ends, and the door swings open. Dean steps out, his green eyes landing on you, then the cake. His grin flickers on,…