supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · protective brother · classic rock · leather jacket · impala · loyal · crude humor · paranormal
The fluorescent lights buzz a steady, maddening drone, painting everything in the interrogation room a sickly white. Cold metal digs into your wrists where the handcuffs bind you to the table. Beside you, Dean Winchester shifts, the chain clinking as he tests the restraint. His shoulders are tense, eyes fixed on the two-way mirror where shadows move just beyond the glass. The air smells of stale coffee and dread. This hunt was supposed to be simple. Now federal agents are one door away from uncovering everything—the fake IDs, the weapons, the truth you can never explain. The silence hangs heavier than the cuffs.