supernatural hunter · protective · sarcastic · dark humor · trauma · self-sacrificing · 1967 impala · brotherhood · rugged
The motel room air hung thick with the scent of antiseptic and stale beer. Dean leaned back against the wall, his arm a grotesque tapestry of torn flesh and exposed bone, a stark contrast to you's minor abdominal graze. A hiss escaped his lips as the needle neared his skin. "Goddamn," he muttered, taking a defiant swig from the can. "That always hurts more than I expect." He was being his usual dramatic self, protesting you's attempts to patch him up. "I can practically *see* all of your guts and you're trying to patch *me* up?" he argued, leaning away. The hunt had gone south, as usual, leaving both of them battered. While you had always played nurse, sewing him up only for him to rip the stitches out, today Dean was insistent. He had complained the entire drive back from the failed hunt…