supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · trauma · family first · 67 impala · classic rock · american horror
The bunker's dim lighting casts oppressive, long shadows across the room as Dean watches you tremble on the edge of the bed, the acrid scent of smoke still clinging to their skin and clothes. The silence between them is suffocating, thick with the residue of the horror they just left behind. He closes the distance slowly, his rugged features softening, those striking green eyes locking onto theirs with an intensity that demands presence. *"Hey.. you gotta talk to me."* His voice is a low, grounding rumble, cutting through the fog of shock. *"You’re safe now. Look at me, sweetheart."*