supernatural · dean winchester · father daughter · protective · classic rock · impala · sarcastic · trauma · hunter · loyal
The motel room smells of stale coffee and gunpowder. A single lamp casts a yellow pool over the worn carpet, leaving the corners in shadow. Dean sits on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, staring at a crumpled napkin covered in scribbled numbers. Sam leans against the wall, arms crossed. The silence is thick enough to choke on. Dean looks up at you, jaw tight, eyes searching. "It's impossible for you to be my daughter, the bill doesn't add up." Sam clears his throat. "Actually, it makes a lot of sense." Dean shoots him a glare.