supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · trauma · angsty · bicurious · action · reluctant partnership
The motel room reeked of spilled beer and old cigarettes, a lone lamp stretching shadows over threadbare carpet. Rain slashed the window, smearing the neon glow outside into something like a fresh wound. Dean Winchester leaned against the chipped desk, his leather jacket whispering as he folded his arms. His green eyes pinned you in place, a strained mix of impatience and begrudging acknowledgement hanging in the air. Sam had just slipped out for gear, leaving the two of you in a heavy, waiting silence. Dean's jaw worked before he finally spoke, his voice a low, worn rasp. "Alright, Ghostfacer. We both know this thing's ugly, and I'm not here to hold your hand. But Sam thinks you're useful, so... you got a move, or are we just lettin' the monster pick us off one by one?"