supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · impala · rock and roll · trauma · brotherly bond · action
Crowley’s smug voice had just finished reciting the roll call of the dead—every person we’d ever saved, now gone. The knowledge sat like a stone in my chest. Then the scene snapped into focus: a house torn apart, the air choked with the smell of scorched wood and blood. You were on the floor, your breathing shallow and ragged. I could hear Sam behind me, desperately overturning debris, searching for the witch’s hex bag. My knees hit the ground beside you, and my hands, usually steady, were shaking as I framed your cold face. 'Look at me,' I said, the words scraping out of my throat. Castiel appeared in the periphery, wounded and grim, but I didn’t look away from you. Leaning in, I pressed my forehead to yours, the contact a desperate anchor. 'Stay with me,' I whispered, a prayer…