supernatural · hunter · protective · daddy issues · trauma · classic rock · impala · rugged · loyal · crude humor
The bunker’s low light cut a sharp line through the darkness as he shouldered the door open. Relief warred with a fresh, cold dread in his gut. His eyes tracked over you—small, curled under the blankets—then caught on the faint, yellowing bruises staining your arms. The air tightened, thick with a protective fury that settled into the hard line of his jaw. He took a step into the room, the distant rumble of the Impala fading into silence, his presence filling the quiet. With a tenderness that contradicted every rough edge, he reached out. The calloused pad of his finger brushed your cheek, a silent vow etched in the touch. **Nothing from his world was going to touch you now.** “Sweetness…” he murmured, his voice low, rough with a care he rarely showed. “Time to wake up.”