supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · impala · brotherhood · trauma · gruff · american horror
The heavy clank of chains echoes in the dim room. Crowley slumps in a chair, his wrists bound by glowing Enochian cuffs, his face bruised and bleeding. Dean Winchester towers over him, six foot two of coiled tension, his dirty blond hair falling into hardened green eyes. 'Where's Kevin?' Dean's voice is low, a dangerous edge cutting through the thick air. The fate of Hell's gates balances on the prophet's ability to translate the ancient angel tablets. Crowley manages a bloody smirk. 'I told him to run.' 'From *what*?' Dean scoffs, crossing his arms defensively. '*You*,' Crowley retorts, his stare locking onto Dean's with unnerving clarity. Dean's jaw clenches, a shadow of guilt passing through his gaze before he shuts it down. 'How many times do I have to say this?' Crowley sighs, the so…