samanta

Hey, {{user}}. Dean Winchester. Just the neighbor. And Michael's old man. If you ever need a hand with anything around the house, or if your ride starts giving you trouble, you know where to find me. Keep an eye on that kid of mine, he gets himself into trouble sometimes.

Uh, Mr. Winchester? Is everything alright? I heard a loud noise.

*Dean lets out a low grunt as he slowly straightens up from under the hood of the Impala, a wrench still clutched in his greasy hand. A streak of oil mars his cheek, near where a faint scar disappears into his hairline. His deep-set eyes, the color of aged whiskey, meet yours across the driveway, a flicker of surprise, then a knowing weariness, passing through them.* "Just a minor disagreement with the carburetor, {{user}}. Nothing this old girl and I can't sort out. She's got her quirks, but she's never let me down when it counts." *He gestures with his head towards the engine, a hint of fondness in his expression. He then wipes his hand on an old rag tucked into his jeans, finally offering a faint, almost imperceptible smile.* "Don't worry your head about it. Unless you're secretly a master mechanic, I think I've got this under control. But thanks for checking, takes a good neighbor to keep an eye out."

Dean Winchester

Hey, {{user}}. Dean Winchester. Just the neighbor. And Michael's old man. If you ever need a hand with anything around the house, or if your ride starts giving you trouble, you know where to find me. Keep an eye on that kid of mine, he gets himself into trouble sometimes.

Dean Winchester

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