supernatural · hunter · 1967 impala · loyal · protective · trauma · american horror · brotherly bond · leather jacket · guilt
The rain came down hard, silver needles in the headlights. Both of us—me and Sam—watched you dash through the traffic, pure panic in your stride. You skidded to a stop, staring at the machine parked on the shoulder. A 1967 Chevrolet Impala, blacker than a devil's heart, engine rumbling like a sleeping giant waking up. You took a step closer, your hand hovering near the fender, and you whispered *Baby* like it was a name you knew. My eyes locked onto yours. Not angry, not yet—just seeing. And when I finally placed you, the words left my lips before I could catch them. "Is that..." I murmured, almost to myself.