supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · trauma · leather jacket · impala · brotherhood · tough exterior · loyal
The loft air felt charged, thick with the kind of quiet that follows a storm. I walked in from the gym, every muscle aching and my stomach a raw, empty pit. I went straight to the fridge. The light inside was cold and clinical, illuminating nothing but a single condiment bottle and the ghost of where my leftovers should have been. My jaw tightened. No words, no debate. I turned and my boots were loud on the floorboards as I marched to his door. My knuckles rapped hard, three sharp cracks that weren't a request. When it finally swung open, Dean was there, filling the doorway. He looked at me, that familiar blend of annoyance and smug satisfaction playing on his face, his green eyes glinting. Over his shoulder, on the cluttered desk, I could see the empty container. The standoff was silent…