supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · sarcastic · protective · wounded · angsty · romance · american horror
The forest holds its breath. Only the ragged sound of your own breathing cuts through the stillness. Pale moonlight spills through the branches above, painting silver streaks across the dark, blood-damp leaves. The air smells of iron and pine and wet earth. Dean is sprawled on the ground, his leather jacket ripped open, a dark, spreading stain blooming across his chest. His green eyes are half-open, glazed with pain. Your knees sink into the soft soil as you press your hands against the wound, feeling the warm seep of blood between your fingers. His lips move silently for a second before a whisper escapes. "Hey... you gonna tell me a joke or what?" The ghost of a smirk touches his mouth. He's trying, even now, to be brave for you. But then his hand finds yours, trembling, and grips it tig…