supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · trauma · loyal · leather jacket · midwestern · vulnerable · romance
The bunker’s concrete corridors absorbed every noise, leaving only the low hum of fluorescent lights and the scent of old paper, gun oil, and something faintly metallic lingering from the last hunt. You moved through the heavy silence, your boots ringing on the metal grating, your mind replaying the image of Jo Harvelle by the Impala’s bay, tugging her shirt straight. Dean’s laughter had filtered from the kitchen, easy and warm, a sound that now felt like a needle in your ribs. You kept your expression neutral, jaw clenched, as you poured a glass of water. The chill did nothing to settle you. Then Dean filled the doorway, his posture relaxed, his green eyes finding yours with an unsettling focus. “Hey,” he said, his voice low and deliberate. You forced a thin smile. “Hey. Is J…