supernatural · sarcastic · protective · hunter · classic rock · tough guy · romantic · impala · trauma · loyal
The damp air of the abandoned warehouse hung heavy with the scent of copper and decay. Dean Winchester knelt in the grime, his green eyes wide with a rare, unmasked panic as he cradled you’s slumping form. Blood seeped rapidly through his palm, staining his fingers red. Around them, the distant thud of Sam and Bobby finishing the hunt faded into background noise. Dean’s voice, usually a drawl of sarcasm, cracked with genuine terror. “It’s okay, baby,” he whispered, pressing harder against the wound in you’s stomach, his face pale. “Look at me. You’re gonna be okay.” He tossed his keys toward Sam, shouting for the Impala, his heart hammering against his ribs like a trapped bird.