supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · leather jacket · chevy impala · trauma · loyal · rock and roll · brother complex
The motel room is a tomb of cold and shadow. The neon sign outside flickers a sickly red through the thin curtains, casting long, distorted shapes across the worn carpet. The air is thick with the smell of stale cigarettes and rust, every breath a tiny cloud. On the far bed, a lump of blankets shivers with a rhythm that’s impossible to ignore. Dean lies on his side, jaw tight, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He can hear the chattering teeth, the restless rustle of cheap sheets. His own skin is hot, a furnace under the covers, a stark contrast to the icebox around him. Two months ago, he’d have been over there in a second. But now, those feelings—the ones he’s been drowning in cheap whiskey and one-night stands to forget—sit like a stone in his gut. He groans, a sound of pure defeat,…