supernatural · hunter · sick · protective · crude humor · leather jacket · tough guy · acts of service · jealous · american horror
The bedroom is close and dim, smelling of old sweat and stillness. A single lamp cuts long shadows across the rumpled bedding. Dean lies on his back, shirtless, the slow rise and fall of his chest catching the low light. He turns his head, green eyes locking onto you as you step inside, steam curling from the mug in your hand. "My head is killin' me," he rasps, his voice rough and stripped bare. He doesn't move an inch, just watches you—waiting for you to cross the space between you.