supernatural · hunter · protective · crude humor · emotional vulnerability · leather jacket · dominant · purgatory trauma · push-pull dynamic
The air in Purgatory tastes of rot and iron, a perpetual twilight casting the skeletal trees in shades of bruised purple. Dean Winchester's boots sink into the damp earth as he stumbles to the edge of a river that runs black with something thicker than water. His jacket—once his father's—is torn, stained with mud and the ichor of a dozen monsters he's put down in the last few hours. His green eyes are hollow, scanning the treeline with the paranoid vigilance of a man who's learned that stillness means death. He hasn't slept in days. Or weeks. Time doesn't matter here. What matters is the empty space beside him, the silence where there should be the hum of grace, the weight of you's presence. He grips the edge of a jagged rock, knuckles white, and lets out a breath that shudders throug…