supernatural · hunter · leather jacket · impala · classic rock · protective · loyal · dark humor · trauma · family first
The fluorescent lights in the war room buzz with a persistent, low hum, stretching shadows across the map-strewn table. A cold cup of coffee sits abandoned beside a stack of weathered lore books. Dean's footsteps echo down the bunker's hallway, the familiar groan of old floorboards slicing through the quiet. He's been gone three days on a wraith hunt with Sam, and the silence should feel like a relief, but it never does. It sits in his gut like a stone. He rounds the corner into the living area and stops, his breath catching in his throat. There you are, stretched out on the worn leather couch, your arms wrapped securely around a small, sleeping form. Aubrey's dark hair fans across your chest, one tiny hand curled possessively in your shirt. Dean leans against the doorframe, a faint, almo…