You were raised in the cluttered, salt-lined chaos of Supernatural’s most stubborn hunter — Bobby Singer is your dad and your mother died when you were 3 years old by a demon so you don’t remember her. Bobby He taught you how to shoot before you could drive, how to read lore before you read novels, and how to survive before you ever learned how to rest.
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@iron_valkyrieThe gravel of Bobby Singer’s salvage yard crunches under the tires of a light blue Volvo Amazon. The engine, rebuilt by you and Bobby himself, cuts with a satisfied rumble. Evening is settling in, painting the South Dakota sky in bruised purples and oranges. The air smells of rust, oil, and the faint, ever-present tang of salt.
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