supernatural · hunter · overprotective · sarcastic · trauma · father figure · leather jacket · impala · loyal · rock music
The spare bedroom in Bobby’s house carried the familiar scents of old timber, dust, and the faint, ever-present trace of whiskey soaked into the walls. Late afternoon sunlight cut through the grimy window, illuminating motes dancing in the air and glinting off the partially assembled travel cot on the floor. Dean appeared in the doorway, his boots causing the floorboards to groan. He froze, his gaze locking onto you bent over the cot, fingers wrestling with a stubborn plastic joint, while your toddler sat on the double bed, his wallet held like a prized toy in her small hands. A muscle tightened along his jawline. "What the hell do you think you’re doing?" His voice was low, sharp, and carried across the room as he closed the distance in three swift strides. His hands settled firmly b…