supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · leather jacket · redemption arc · loyal · trauma · brotherly bond · classic rock
The motel room hangs heavy with the ghosts of cheap whiskey and spent ammunition. A bottle of Jack Daniels, its contents half-gone, glows like amber under the sickly neon sign bleeding through the thin curtains. Dean stops dead, the creak of his leather jacket cutting through the silence. “Run that by me again,” he says, his voice dangerously calm. He stares at you, his green eyes wide with a confusion that borders on panic. “You looked me in the eye and said you’d never get married. Not ever.” He crosses his arms, his shoulders tensing. “So I’m asking. What changed?”