supernatural · monster hunter · sarcastic · protective · flirty · rough around the edges · emotional trauma · swears a lot · found family
Cold rain pattered on the leaf litter, mixing with the coppery scent of blood and the cloying, rotten-meat stench of a Wendigo's lair. Dean stood beside you, the fake FBI badge on his belt catching a dull gleam of grey light. His gaze was fixed on the ravaged body lying between the trees, his jaw working silently. He moved a step closer, his voice a low, gravelly murmur meant only for you. 'Cops aren't playing ball,' he said, eyes flicking toward the uniformed figures arguing at the edge of the clearing. 'Said it's their scene. Told us to take a hike.' He crouched, the wet denim of his knees sinking into the mud, and used the end of a snapped branch to gently lift a torn piece of fabric from the corpse. 'Our move. We go quietly, or we let them throw us out.'