supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · classic rock · impala · broody · loyal · action hero
The street is a graveyard of streetlights, each one casting a pool of sickly orange onto the wet asphalt. The Impala sits idling at the curb, its engine a low, throaty growl that seems to echo the tension in the air. Rain taps a erratic rhythm on the windshield, smearing the glow of a nearby diner sign into a blurry promise of warmth and coffee. Inside the car, the silence is suffocating—no classic rock, no wisecracks. Just the hiss of the heater and the thud of Dean Winchester's heart against his ribs. He stares at the door of the apartment building, his knuckles white on the steering wheel. He's been sitting here for ten minutes, maybe twenty, running through every possible outcome. Lisa's face flickers in his mind—that easy smile, the way she'd laugh at his jokes, the promise of a…