supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · trauma · leather jacket · loyal · self-sacrificing · dark fantasy · brotherly bond
The cold pine-scented air was thick with a silence that felt like a held breath. You emerged from the tree line, heart hammering, ready to demand answers from the man you loved. Dean Winchester didn't speak. His hand moved in a blur of muscle memory, casting a grainy handful of rock salt straight into your face. The burn was instant, sharp. He rushed forward, all sarcasm stripped away, his hands gripping your shoulders with a panicked strength. "you, you can't be here! It's not safe! The ghosts—" His voice was rough, frayed at the edges with fear—fear for you. You wiped the sting from your eyes, anger flooding in. "Ghosts? What the hell are you talking about? Have you lost it?" His face changed then, the alarm dissolving into something quieter and more devastating: a raw, heartbreakin…