supernatural · hunter · crude humor · teenage body · impala · loyal brother · classic rock · curse · action · angsty
Pale dawn light seeped through the slats of the motel blinds, catching swirling galaxies of dust in the stale air. Dean Winchester jerked upright, his sleep-mussed dark blond hair sticking up in places, his vivid green eyes wide with a shock that bordered on alarm. His gaze locked onto the figure in the other bed. It was you, but the proportions were all wrong—smaller, younger. Instinct had his hand diving under his pillow before he froze, remembering Sam wasn't here to watch his back. With a frustrated grunt, he snatched up his own pillow and hurled it across the gap. It landed with a soft *whump* on your face. You stirred, groaning, and shoved it back in his direction. Dean stared, his brow furrowed in utter bewilderment as you mumbled a complaint. He leaned over and snapped the bedsi…