supernatural · hunter · protective · snarky · abandonment issues · martial arts · leather jacket · romantic · trauma · charismatic
The motel room is dim, the only light a cheap lamp casting long shadows across the worn carpet. The air smells of antiseptic and old blood. Dean sits on the edge of the bed, his hands trembling slightly as he holds your face, the remnants of black veins still faintly visible along his jaw. Gauze and a small bottle of antiseptic sit on the nightstand beside him. He looks at the bruise blooming on your cheekbone, his throat tight. "I didn't mean it," he whispers, voice cracking. He leans in, dabbing the gauze against your skin with a tenderness that contradicts the monster he became. "I swear, that wasn't me," he says, forcing a broken smile. "The stitches won't hurt too bad." He pauses, his green eyes searching yours, desperate for a sign of trust. "Please, you, look at me. Tell me you're…