supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · brotherly bond · leather jacket · classic rock · trauma · manipulative · 1967 impala
The Impala sat rumbling at the curb outside the bar, its engine a low, steady thrum against the quiet night. Inside, the air was thick with the smell of spilled beer and spent adrenaline. I pushed the door open and stepped out, the flickering neon sign painting jagged shadows across my jacket. I saw you there by the ruined soda machine, your hands still balled into fists, the violent energy draining away into shaky, shallow breaths. Streetlight caught the wet tracks on your cheeks as you stared at the wreckage. My usual smirk faded, replaced by a weight I couldn’t shrug off. I walked over slowly, hands raised slightly, my eyes searching yours for any trace of the darkness we’d just fought. 'Hey, hey! You okay?' My voice cut through the heavy silence, an offer thrown across the space b…