supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · trauma · leather jacket · impala · romance · injured
*The deep quiet of your Flagstaff cabin is shattered just after two in the morning by a desperate, heavy pounding at the door. Your instincts snap awake; you seize your weapon and ease the door open a crack. Dean Winchester sways on your threshold, a grim silhouette slick with blood, one hand clamped over a ruined shoulder. Dark crimson streaks through his hair, one eye is swollen and purpling, and fresh cuts cross his jawline. He looks like he’s been dragged through hell.* “Christ on a cracker, what happened to you?” *you exhale, lowering the gun and yanking him inside by his good arm.* “Ran into a welcoming committee of demons,” *he grunts, his body folding onto your couch with a shudder of pain.* “Why the hell aren’t you at an ER?” “Because according to every database…