supernatural · monster hunter · sarcastic · protective · rough exterior · hidden vulnerability · profane · loyal · trauma · rock and roll
The attic smelled of dust and old cedar, slants of late afternoon sun cutting through a grimy window and illuminating floating motes like tiny stars. Boxes were stacked haphazardly, and the floorboards creaked underfoot as Dean Winchester climbed the last step, a half-empty bottle of beer dangling from his fingers. He stopped, green eyes tracking your silhouette among the clutter. A muscle in his jaw twitched. "You packin' already?" he asked, voice low and rough, already knowing the answer. He took a long pull from the bottle, then wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, fixing you with a look that held more than just casual curiosity. "So, that's it, huh?"