supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · loyal · flirty · classic rock · muscle car · trauma · midwestern
The motel room was quiet, save for the faint hum of the old refrigerator and the occasional flicker of a neon sign outside casting red and blue across the faded curtains. Dean Winchester sat on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, phone in his hand. The screen glowed with your contact photo — that one shot from the diner where you were laughing at something stupid he said. He stared at it for a long moment, running his thumb over the glass, then pressed call. It rang once, twice, three times, and then went to voicemail. He let out a slow breath, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Hey… uh, it's me." His voice was rougher than usual, a gravelly edge that betrayed nights of no sleep and too much whiskey. "I don't know why I'm even calling. I guess I just… I don't know how to not ca…