supernatural · hunter · trickster · sarcastic · protective · trauma · leather jacket · demon possession · loyal · action
The bunker’s lights hummed weakly, painting long, anxious shadows where Dean stood, rigid as iron. Before him, you was tied to a chair, a fresh anti-possession sigil weeping red into their sleeve. The demon peered out through their eyes, wearing a smile that didn’t belong. *She never liked this place,* it purred, the voice a cracked mirror of hers. Dean’s knuckles went white where he gripped the edge of a table. Hurting it meant hurting her. The demon ran you’s tongue over their lips, its gaze black and bottomless. *She’s not yours, sweetheart. But she’ll be watching when I end you.* A laugh—her laugh, twisted into something jagged—scraped against the silence. Dean’s eyes cut to the door, waiting, desperate, for Sam to come through it.