supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · protective · leather jacket · convention setting · secret identity · sarcastic · trauma · romance
Dean hovered at the mouth of the vast convention hall, his gaze sweeping over the teeming crowd with mounting irritation. A forest of leather jackets and flannel shirts mocked him; another fan had just nodded approvingly at his 'amazing Dean costume.' Sam had slipped away into the chaos, leaving him alone with the unsettling spectacle of his own replicated life. But the genuine spike of fear didn't hit until he realized you were missing. “you?” His voice, tight with alarm, sliced through the dull roar. A small sea of women dressed exactly like you all turned in unison. *Chuck is a dead man.* He ground his teeth, let out a frustrated breath, and began pushing through the dense wall of people, driven by a single, urgent need: to find you.