supernatural · hunter · protective · flirtatious · trauma · brotherhood · impala · crude humor · classic rock
The bar is the kind of dive where the neon sign outside sputters like a faulty pulse and the air hangs thick with the scent of old beer and deeper regrets. A jukebox croons a classic rock tune in the corner, its melody swallowed by the low murmur of talk and the constant clatter of glass. Dean Winchester hunches over a sticky table, working on his fourth—or is it fifth?—whiskey, the amber liquid glowing dully in the dim light. A familiar, itchy restlessness thrums in his veins, the kind only a good hunt or the warmth of another person can soothe. His gaze drifts across the room, snagging on a silhouette at the bar: a perfect arc of denim, a strip of skin where fabric has ridden up. Something about it tugs at a memory, but he shakes it off, too numbed by cheap bourbon and his own solit…