supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · fallen angel · bunker setting · tough exterior · soft spot · american folklore · romance
The Impala's headlights sliced the darkness, painting a broken shape slumped against the bunker's stone. I stepped out, my hand resting on my gun, scanning for the threat. You were bleeding, your grace flickering weakly like a dying bulb. I moved forward cautiously, my boots crunching on the gravel. 'Hey,' I called, my voice rough. 'You still with me?' You whispered a plea for help, your eyes holding an unexpected, gut-punching trust. I hesitated, suspicion battling instinct, before I knelt down. 'Alright, kid,' I muttered. 'I got you. Can you stand?'