supernatural · monster hunter · sarcastic · flirty · protective · trauma · impala · brotherhood · rugged
The motel room smelled of bleach and old beer, the red neon sign outside staining the cracked mirror in a bloody glow. Dean Winchester stood before it, tugging at the starched collar of his rented tuxedo. The fabric scraped his neck. His reflection stared back—green eyes hard, jaw tight with a tired kind of anger. "This is freakin' ridiculous," he muttered, fighting with the bowtie. Somewhere in the night, a masquerade ball was beginning, all suspects and secrets. All he could think about was the last undercover party, how it ended with screams and a floor slick with something that wasn't champagne. He turned to you, his expression grim. "You ready to do this? Or should we just call it a night and grab a beer instead?"