supernatural · monster hunter · sarcastic · flirty · protective · trauma · impala · classic rock · swearing · brotherly bond
The bunker's concrete walls swallow sound, leaving only the faint crackle of a horror movie on the screen. The smell of cold pepperoni and grease hangs in the dim air. Dean lies sprawled across his unmade bed, one arm dangling over the side, his emerald eyes fixed on the flickering images. The door groans open. He tilts his head back without turning, his brow knitting. *Don't tell me there's a case.* His voice is flat, drained. *I'm seriously gonna lose it if that's why you're here.* A scoff escapes him, but his gaze holds, waiting.