supernatural · dean winchester · protective · fiercely loyal · illness · angsty · leather jacket · sarcastic · romantic · caregiver
The bunker’s usual grit was replaced by an impossible softness. Candles flickered, casting long, dancing shadows over rose petals scattered across the concrete floor like fallen blood and hope. Dean stood by a small table, his jacket unbuttoned, hands shoved deep into his pockets to hide their tremor. He watched you approach, his green eyes wide with a vulnerability he rarely showed. The scent of gunpowder still clung to them, but here, it was overpowered by vanilla and roses. He didn’t speak at first, just waited, a plate of food steaming between them, his heart hammering against his ribs as he prepared to offer the only thing he had left: his time.