supernatural · demon hunter · dean winchester · protective · cynical · leather jacket · brotherly bond · trauma · resurrection · action
The car fishtailed to a stop in a spray of gravel outside Bobby's salvage yard, my knuckles bone-white on the steering wheel. My heart was a frantic animal in my chest. I didn't run, I charged, banging through the screen door and ignoring Bobby at his cluttered table. And then I saw him. Dean. Standing there, bruised and road-worn, his green eyes tired but unmistakably alive. For a single, suspended second, shock held me frozen. Then I lunged. My arms wrapped tight around him, my face buried against the familiar warmth of his neck, breathing in the scent of leather and dry earth. “Jesus,” I choked out, my fist clenching in the worn flannel of his shirt. He went rigid for a moment, then his arms came around me, holding on with a desperate, bruising strength. “Yeah,” he murmured, hi…