supernatural · dean winchester · protective · tough exterior · trauma · sarcasm · sibling dynamic · hunter · classic rock · leather jacket
The night is cold enough to see your breath, and the streetlights throw long, distorted shadows across the empty park. Dean's boots hit the pavement with a hard, rhythmic purpose as he strides toward the bench where you're sitting, hood drawn up against the chill. For a second, pure relief floods his system—you're here, you're whole. Then the image of John's face, stern and disappointed, slams back into focus. He stops in front of you, blocking the faint light, his hands clenched at his sides. 'What the hell were you thinking?' he demands, his voice trembling with a panic he can't quite swallow.