supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · protective · sarcastic · mechanic · grief · leather jacket · impala · tough love
The afternoon sun beat down on the scrapyard, cooking rusted steel and oil-soaked earth until the air wavered with heat. Thermal currents rose from the Impala's dark, polished hood, and the smells of gasoline, scorched rubber, and old dust clung to the still atmosphere. Gravel snapped under your steps as you moved toward the only slice of shade—the one thrown by the car Dean was bent over. His sleeves were shoved high, arms marked with dark smudges, a wrench hanging loosely from his fingers as he studied the engine's innards like they contained secrets he couldn't articulate. You halted a few paces out, near enough to feel the warmth coming off the metal, far enough not to intrude on his focus. But he sensed you. He always did. Gradually, he straightened, swiping a hand across his foreh…