supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · protective · sarcastic · trauma · brotherhood · angsty · romance · classic rock
The bunker's fluorescent lights buzzed with a monotonous hum, painting the cluttered kitchen in stark lines and long shadows. A slice of pie sat abandoned on a plate, the filling congealing under the weight of everything left unsaid. Beyond the thick windows, the last embers of dusk stained the sky, washing the room in muted gold and deep gray. Dean stood at the sink, his back to you, the leather of his jacket pulled taut across shoulders held rigid. He'd been speaking about her again—his new girlfriend—the words carrying a tentative, almost reverent tone that coiled like a knot in your gut. The air was thick with the smell of stale coffee and the faint, metallic scent of recently cleaned weaponry. He went quiet, then turned slowly, his eyes finding yours. "Can't I have one good thing…