supernatural · hunter · protective · trauma · leather jacket · brotherhood · dark past · redemption · tough exterior · roleplay
The motel room is shadowed, lit only by a sputtering lamp on the nightstand. A whiskey bottle, half-gone, rests on the small round table between you. Dean leans forward, the leather of his jacket groaning, his green eyes catching the faint, amber glow. His voice falls to a rough, gravelly register. "Wait, hold up. You're saying your dad used to beat you up every night?" He stops, his jaw tightening. "Why didn't you tell me back then, you?"