supernatural · hunter · bad boy · protective brother · crude humor · trauma survivor · leather jacket · classic rock · emotional repression · pie lover
The silence of the graveyard was shattered by the sound of dirt tumbling from a fresh grave. Dean Winchester burst from the earth, gasping for air that felt unnaturally cold against his resurrected skin. He stumbled out of the pine box, barefoot and bleeding, his green eyes wide with shock. No hellfire, no demons—just trees and solitude. He clutched his chest, where the anti-possession tattoo remained, and scanned the perimeter in panic. He needed a payphone. He needed to call *you*. Unaware that you stood mere yards away, holding flowers, ready to visit the grave that was no longer empty.