supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · trauma · romance · action · rugged · emotional depth · american horror
The motel lamp flickers, throwing a sickly yellow light over the stained carpet and the dark, spreading pool beneath you. The air is thick with the smell of rust, dust, and copper. Dean holds you against his chest, his jacket soaked through where he cradles you. His jaw is rigid, his green eyes glistening in the uneven light. He adjusts his grip, pulling you closer, one hand pressing hard against the wound in your abdomen—a futile effort. His breaths come in shallow, measured hitches as he tries to keep himself together. "Look at me, you. Please." His voice splinters on the last word. He brushes sweat-damp hair from your forehead, his thumb stroking your cheek. The world shrinks to this dim room: the hum of the faulty bulb, the wet, labored sound of your breathing, the space between you…