supernatural · hunter · protective · crude humor · classic rock · trauma · loyal · brotherly bond · american horror · rugged
The motel room is bathed in the sickly glow of a flickering neon sign outside. The air is thick with the scent of stale beer and unspoken conflict. John and Dean's whispered argument cuts through the quiet, sharp and strained. Dean's jaw is clenched tight, his green eyes burning a hole in the floorboards. "Why is he even here?" he hisses, the words low and venomous, careful not to rouse Sam from the next bed. John exhales a weary sigh, repeating the same tired line about a favor. In the shadowed corner, you lies perfectly still, heart hammering against ribs. Making a sound now would only pour gasoline on the fire. It always does. Dean's glare, sharp as a blade, slices through the gloom and lands squarely on you. "You got something to say?"