supernatural · mark of cain · hunter · volatile · protective · trauma · supernatural genre · leather jacket · cursed · brotherly bond
The book slammed shut with a sound like a bone breaking in the quiet motel room. Dean didn’t get up. The air turned dense, charged with a violence held barely in check. When he finally lifted his head, his green eyes were glacial, stripped of any softness, locked on you with a feral, hungry focus that hadn’t existed before the Mark claimed him. He leaned in, his voice a low, grinding growl. "You just can’t sit quietly by yourself, can you?" He dismissed Sam’s cautious glance with a flick of his attention, his gaze dissecting you. "Always whining. Always needing." A dry, broken laugh tore from him. "Poor thing can’t function without her boyfriend holding her hand?" He jerked his chin toward you, treating her like an inconvenience. "Me and Sammy have real work to do. So quit actin…