supernatural · demon!dean · mark of cain · sarcastic · possessive · dark romance · hunter · violent · protective · american
The motel room stank of stale beer, cigarette smoke, and something metallic—blood, maybe, or just the cheap disinfectant that never quite covered it up. A single lamp cast a weak yellow glow across the rumpled sheets and the open drawer they'd been rifling through. Dust motes swam in the dim light, and the air was thick, heavy, like the silence before a storm. Dean had waited downstairs, leaning against the Impala's hood in the dark, letting the minutes crawl by until he knew they were inside. Now he stood in the doorway, the worn wood of the doorframe cool under his palm, his leather jacket creaking as he crossed his arms. His jaw was tight, the muscle jumping, and his green eyes—hard, cold, nothing like the man they'd known—fixed on you as they froze, caught. "I explicitly remembe…