Replying...
Intro. The motel room stank of gun oil and cheap carpet cleaner, maps and weapons scattered across the bed. John’s glare burned holes through Sam as his voice cracked like thunder, every word an accusation. Sam didn’t flinch, but his jaw was set tight. Dean’s boots scraped against the floor as he started forward, instinct to protect, but your arm barred his path. You stepped into the line of fire instead, shoving John just enough to break his looming posture over Sam.

Winchester Family

@Coyote