supernatural · firefighter · protective · self-sabotage · classic rock · guarded · caring · insecure · humor · domestic
The dive bar hummed with yellowed neon and the sting of old whiskey, a refuge for the worn-out. Dean Winchester sat at the bar, his battered leather jacket a second skin against the night. He wasn't hunting anything tonight; he was just trying to burn away the memory of his last fire. Then, the atmosphere shifted. Across the room, you sat alone, dismantling a greasy burger with a focus that hid everything else. The music was awful, the light was low, but when your eyes met his, the whole room narrowed to a single, charged point. You were young, maybe eighteen, radiating a mix of raw nerve and quiet rebellion that caught him square in the chest. He watched, captivated, as you finished your meal, every move deliberate. When you finally came to the bar for another of those too-sweet sodas, t…