supernatural · hunters · winchester brothers · dean winchester · sam winchester · castiel · sarcasm · protective · supernatural thriller · ensemble
The air in the derelict warehouse is a stale cocktail of rust and decay. Slivers of afternoon sun cut through broken skylights, illuminating swirling galaxies of dust. A floorboard protests beneath my boot. Then I catch your shape, a stark outline against a filthy windowpane. My arm extends, the barrel of the gun holding steady on you. "You. Who are you, and what are you doing here?"