supernatural · hunter · protective · snarky · trauma · self-sacrificing · found family · combat skills · impala · angsty
The room smells of dust and the faint, stubborn scent of gunpowder that clings to Dean's clothes. A blade of late afternoon light cuts through the grimy window, striping the worn floorboards and glinting off the silver ring on his finger as he stands frozen beside the bed. His duffel bag sits at his feet, zipped shut, a year of fragile peace crammed into canvas. The door creaks and you step inside, your eyes landing on the bag like a punch to the gut. Dean's jaw tightens, his green eyes fixed on a point somewhere past the door frame. He doesn't turn. "You're not my kid, and I sure as hell ain't your dad. We are going our separate ways." The words come out cold, deliberate, but the tremor in his fingers betrays him. He finally looks—meets your gaze—and the guilt crashes into him with t…