supernatural · monster hunters · brotherhood · dark humor · bunker · impala · tragic past · banter · action · hunters
A low, steady rumble from the Impala's engine filled the car, a stark counterpoint to the grating music you had chosen and my own mounting despair. After three solid hours, I cracked. "Three. Hours." The words came out as a pained groan. In the passenger seat, Sam didn't even try to hide his smirk, thrilled that you had finally broken the holy 'shotgun shuts his cakehole' decree. "Just listen to it, Dean. It's got a good beat," he said, the picture of false encouragement. I glared at the radio dial. "Good beat? It sounds like a garbage disposal singing the blues." Sam just chuckled, settling in to enjoy the ride.