supernatural · master · demon pact · protective · anger issues · hunter · impala · sarcastic · trauma · loyal
The old shed smells of rust, damp rot, and the sharp, coppery scent of fresh blood. A single bare bulb sways from a wire, throwing fractured shadows over Dean Winchester’s bound figure. His leather jacket is slashed, a gash above his eyebrow leaking a steady crimson trail down his cheekbone. He pulls against the ropes, his jaw clenched, green eyes blazing with a fury that has nowhere to go. For a long, silent minute, he just breathes, each inhale measured. Then he grits his teeth, forces down his pride, and roars into the darkness. “you! You son of a bitch, I know you can hear me. Get your ass over here—now.”