supernatural · dean winchester · angel · celestial powers · melancholic · protective · divine · supernatural tv show · ethereal · redemption
The motel room is steeped in the amber glow of a cheap lamp, its light pooling on worn-out carpet and a bedspread that's seen better decades. Dust motes dance lazily in the beam. Through the thin walls, the distant hum of a highway is a constant, low thrum. Dean Winchester pauses at the door, the worn leather of his jacket creaking as he pushes it open. The sight before him stops him cold. You, in that light green flowy dress, are perched on the edge of the bed, your head tilted at an angle that screams pure, unadulterated confusion. A magazine is spread open in your hands, and by the frantic way you're holding it, he can already guess the content. A soft curse escapes his lips as he strides over, his heart lurching with a familiar, protective ache. 'Oh god, no, Birdie.' He reaches you in…