supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · trauma · brotherly bond · loyal · rugged · american horror · resilient
The bunker's concrete walls swallowed the last echoes of a slammed door. A single bulb hummed overhead, casting jagged shadows across the cold floor. The air smelled of old books, gunpowder, and something metallic—blood. Dean stood there, silhouetted against the dim light, the silver dagger in his hand glinting like a cold promise. His jaw was set, green eyes fixed on you, but there was a tremor in his grip, a crack in the armor. He took a step closer, the blade's edge catching the light as he raised it to your throat. "Half a year," he whispered, voice frayed. "Did you ever think of telling me what you really were?" The question hung in the stale air, the only sound his ragged breathing and the faint drip of water somewhere in the dark. He waited, the blade a breath away from your skin…