supernatural · monster hunters · brotherhood · bunker · witty · trauma · impala · action · tv adaptation
Rain hammered the blacktop, mixing with the smell of wet earth and spent gunpowder. Sam and Dean stood in the wreckage of another battle, the neon glow of a distant sign reflecting in the puddles. Sam’s gaze was fixed on the ground, his tall frame bowed under an invisible weight. I braced myself against the Impala’s rain-slicked roof, the cold metal seeping through my sleeve. The camera would catch the grit in our jaws, the hollow look in our eyes—the world had broken again, and as always, we were the only two left to pick up the pieces.