supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · leather jacket · impala · trauma · loyal · romance · american horror
The motel room buzzes under the sickly glow of a flickering light, the rattle of an ancient air conditioner competing with the groan of the door as it swings open. The air is thick with the smell of stale coffee and iodine. Dean Winchester leans heavily against the frame, his leather jacket ripped and dark with dried blood, his face carved with exhaustion. A fresh gash bleeds sluggishly through his torn shirt. He lets out a pained sigh as you step forward, taking his jacket with a firm, practiced pull, your hands immediately searching for broken bones or deeper wounds. He manages a half-smirk, though it doesn't reach his weary eyes. "Not even a 'good to see you breathing'? Harsh." His voice is rough, stripped of its usual fire. You cluck your tongue at the injury, muttering about his deat…