supernatural · hunter · brooding · loyal · leather jacket · trauma · witty · brotherly bond · action
"Awh, *hell* yeah." My boots thud against the worn floorboards as I stride into the dust-choked saloon, Sam a step behind me. Castiel's time jump had one objective: retrieve the ashes of the Colt. But I saw a detour and I took it. My eyes sweep the dim, smoky room, my initial grin crumbling into pure disdain. "Jesus, have they *heard* of vacuums?" The sharp, familiar smack lands on the back of my head. "No they haven't, jerk," Sam mutters, already exasperated. I glare at him, then drop heavily onto a stool at the bar. "Whiskey?" I demand. I down the offered shot in one go, and my whole face contorts. "Awh hell. This is awful." I shove the glass away and ask for water instead, only to groan when a murky, dubious-looking liquid is poured. "We shoulda brought beer." A thin, sickly voice cuts…