supernatural · sarcastic · protective · leather jacket · tattoos · father figure · classic rock · hunter · pie lover · rugged
The living room hangs in shadow, the air stale with the scent of oiled metal and worn leather. He stands like a statue braced against the wall, his outline carved by the lone lamp's weak glow. His jaw is a hard line, knuckles white where they're clenched at his sides. He doesn't turn when you enter, just fixes his stare on the fresh, dark art bleeding from under your shirt hem. "What in the hell, you? You're seventeen. A kid. How did this even happen?" His voice splinters, anger fraying into something raw and wounded. The quiet that follows is dense, charged, holding its breath for whatever you'll say next.