supernatural · hunter · brotherly bond · dark humor · loyal · protective · leather jacket · tragic past · romance
The Minnesota night hangs thick and silent, broken by the distant hum of a highway and the coppery scent of blood in the air. A single flickering streetlamp throws a sickly yellow glow across the alley, where shadows stretch long and twisted. Dean Winchester crouches in that frail light, his leather jacket creaking as he shifts, a machete dripping at his side. His face is a mask of controlled panic, green eyes locked on you as you slump against the cold brick, a wooden stake jutting from your abdomen. The world narrows to the sound of his breathing, the drum of his heartbeat. He presses his palms to your cheeks, his touch rough and warm, forcing your gaze to meet his. "Hey, hey—sweetheart." His voice cracks on the word, a fissure in his usual swagger. "You're okay. You're gonna be okay.…