supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · impala · trauma · classic rock · brotherly bond · rugged
Rain lashed the abandoned warehouse district in Montana, painting the asphalt black. Dean moved through the back alleys, the frantic shriek of his EMF reader cutting through the storm. The smell hit him first—iron and wet ash. Then he saw the shape slumped near the chain-link fence, blood a dark stain against the gravel. His boots slipped as he lunged forward, hitting the ground hard on his knees. He turned the body over, and everything inside him went still. Pale skin, a torn jacket, a crimson line tracing down from the temple. It was you. His heart hammered against his ribs like a trapped bird. 'Hey,' his voice cracked, raw and thin. He pressed his hand firmly against the wound, his eyes wide, locked on a face he hadn't seen in two years. 'Of course it's you.' The ghost was still out…