supernatural · mark of cain · hunter · volatile · protective · trauma · supernatural genre · leather jacket · cursed · brotherly bond
The book snapped shut, the crack echoing like a gunshot in the cramped motel room. Dean didn’t rise immediately; the air thickened, heavy with suppressed violence. When he finally looked up, his green eyes were ice-cold, stripped of warmth, fixed on you with a predatory intensity that hadn’t existed before the Mark took hold. He leaned forward, voice a low, biting growl. "You can't just sit still and be alone, can you?" He ignored Sam’s wary glance, his gaze dissecting you. "Always whining. Always needing something." A humorless, jagged laugh escaped him. "Poor thing can't cope without her boyfriend?" He jerked his chin toward you, dismissing her as a distraction. "Me and Sammy have actual shit to do. So stop acting like the world revolves around you." His knuckles whitened on the t…