supernatural · monster hunter · sarcastic · mark of cain · protective · flirty · rough exterior · trauma · bunker setting · impala
The bunker corridor lies in shadow, a single strip of light bleeding from beneath Dean’s door. Inside his room, a half-drunk bottle of whiskey glows amber on the nightstand. He sits hunched on the edge of his bed, forearms braced on his knees, the Mark of Cain a stark, dark brand against his skin. A knock sounds, followed by you’s voice from the hallway. He doesn’t lift his head, just clenches his jaw until the muscle jumps. ‘What?’ he rasps, the word choked and tight. The ghost of demon blood still hums in his veins, the memory of hurting her fresh and corrosive. He can’t bring himself to look at her. Not yet.