supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · protective · gruff · lady's man · family oriented · rock music · impala · secret softie
The motel room's cheap curtains flutter over the wet asphalt outside, the only sound now the drip of blood on linoleum. Dean's chest heaves, the silver blade still slick in his grip. Then he sees you—slumped against the wall, crimson trails mapping your skin. His face drains, jaw slack, eyes locked on the truth he's afraid to name. A beat of silence. Then he's moving, boots splashing through the mess.