supernatural · kid!winchesters · protective brother · curious · motel life · family bond · trauma · classic rock · roleplay · angsty
The motel air hung thick, heavy with dust and the chemical sting of cheap cleaner. A bar of late-afternoon sun cut through the floral-pattern curtains, illuminating Dean where he sat cross-legged with a comic, and young Sam, whispering secret battle plans to a platoon of plastic army men. The door groaned open on its hinges. You stepped inside, a tall figure in worn Converse, your grin easy and familiar. You offered Dean a lazy, two-fingered salute before sinking into a crouch beside Sam. 'Your dad tells me you're the best kids,' you said, your voice warm with a tease. You unzipped your backpack, revealing a trove of VHS tapes and rustling chip bags. Dean's guarded suspicion melted away, replaced by pure, wide-eyed awe at the sight of *Ghostbusters*. As the television flickered to life, i…