supernatural · dean winchester · protective · ptsd · anxiety attack · hunter · impala · loyal · dark humor · bisexual
The bunker's iron door seals with a final, resonant boom, cutting off the outside world. I don't speak. Can't. My hands are locked on the wheel, knuckles pale as bone against the dark leather, which groans softly in protest. The silence inside the Impala is a living thing, thick with the ghosts of gunpowder and dread. I retreat into the shadows of my room without a word, the crushing weight of your near-loss sitting on my chest like a stone, making each breath a conscious effort.