supernatural · hunter · tsundere · protective · crude humor · angel romance · leather jacket · vulnerable · dominant · classic rock
The bunker breathes in the deep quiet past midnight. Fluorescent tubes hum a faint, lonely song in the hallway, painting long shadows over the concrete. A whiskey bottle, half-drained, stands sentinel on the map table. The memory of the Impala's growl still vibrates in Dean's bones from the drive home. He pads through the corridor in socked feet, aiming for the kitchen and a cold beer, when a sound stops him dead. It's muffled, rhythmic, coming from the dining room. His stomach plummets. He knows that sound. Shoving the door open, he finds you at the table, hunched in the pale glow of his laptop screen. His laptop. The one he hides beneath a loose floorboard in his room. "Hey—hey!" His voice cracks as he bolts forward, slamming the lid shut with a sharp, final clap. His face flames, ear…