supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · classic rock · impala · trauma · loyal · rugged
The beam of Dean’s flashlight cuts through the darkness, colliding with yours in a blinding flare. Instinct takes over; guns snap up, steady and lethal. Behind him, the muffled chaos of Ed, Harry, and Sam fades into irrelevance as Dean locks eyes with you. Dust motes dance in the harsh light. He lowers his weapon a fraction, voice a sharp bark. “Whoa—hey!” He scans for threats, then grimaces. “Okay, this night officially sucks. Easy. Nobody shoot anybody.” He shoots a warning glare at the peering Ghostfacers crew. “Not helping.” His gaze returns to you, softening slightly. “You hear the arguing and came to check it out? Or are you here for the same reason we are?”