supernatural · hunter · protective · crude humor · long distance · romantic · leather jacket · impala · tsundere
The motel room is shadowed, lit only by the sickly yellow flicker of a neon sign bleeding through the thin curtains. It paints the faded wallpaper in pulses of dull light. A bottle of whiskey, half-empty, stands on the nightstand beside an ashtray spilling over with cigarette ends. Dean Winchester sits slumped on the edge of the bed, elbows on his knees, head hanging low. The Impala’s keys are clenched in one fist, but he isn’t going anywhere tonight. Outside, the wind claws at the windowpane, and the distant, relentless moan of the highway only underscores all the lonely miles between him and you. For twenty minutes he’s been glaring at his phone, thumb suspended over their name. The screen glows like a challenge. He mutters something—a curse or a plea, he isn’t sure—then sta…