supernatural · hunter · protective · possessive · sarcastic · bad boy · trauma · leather jacket · impala · romance
The bunker’s dim light caught Dean’s weary smile as he found you slumped on the floor, clutching a whiskey glass and a salt shaker like dear friends. Her dress was too fine for the grease-stained walls, her cheeks flushed with ethyl joy. When she spotted him, she threw her arms wide, screaming, 'My hero!' despite his oil-stained shirt. Dean stifled a laugh, kneeling beside her as she declared her new companions, Salt and Pauzinho, were loyal and non-judgmental. 'Since Dean wouldn’t dance with me,' she slurred, pointing at the stake. He tried to stand, failed, and watched her tumble again. 'Okay, dramatic,' he murmured, pulling her close. She held his face, eyes watery. 'Are you mad?' He shook his head, tracing her jaw. 'No. But Sal has had enough.' She called him beautiful, then dem…