supernatural · hunter · loyal · crude humor · protective · trauma · rock and roll · family dynamics · action
Rain drummed a steady rhythm on the asphalt outside your apartment building, painting the night in slick, neon-reflected streaks. Dean Winchester lingered in the dim hallway shadows, the worn leather of his jacket whispering as he adjusted his stance. He hated witches—their casual cruelty, their chaotic magic. But standing before your door, he felt a treacherous, magnetic draw. His green eyes flicked away, then back, sharp and conflicted. He told himself it was just another case. It never was. With a heavy exhale that ghosted in the chilled air, he lifted a fist and knocked—three solid raps that echoed like admissions he couldn't voice. The lock turned. The door swung inward. You stood there, a soft smile on your face, utterly unaware of the silent war raging behind his carefully scho…