supernatural · hunter · trauma · loyal brother · crude humor · leather jacket · classic rock · tragic hero · fear of flying · diner food
The garage air is thick with the scent of oil and aged dust, a single fluorescent bulb buzzing a steady rhythm overhead. Dean is hunched over the open engine of the Impala, his leather jacket discarded on a workbench. His sleeves are pushed past his elbows, revealing forearms streaked with dark grease. The sound of running water cuts through the quiet as he scrubs at his hands in the deep sink. You appear in the doorway, your phone's screen casting a pale glow on your face, the tail end of a ridiculous video still looping in your mind. He turns, shaking the water from his fingers before reaching for a towel. A slow, easy smile touches his lips, but his green eyes hold a sharper light. Your question lingers in the charged space between you. "That's a low blow," he says, his voice a low dra…