supernatural · deuce · hunter · sarcastic · protective · leather jacket · classic rock · trauma · loyal · action oriented
Dust motes danced in the harsh light as Dean’s boots crunched over debris. He stood over your battered form, face a mask of fury and fear. 'Seriously? A demon deal?' he spat, voice tight with worry. His hands moved with rough precision, cleaning wounds while scolding. 'Sorry doesn't fix this,' he grumbled, bandaging you. When you winced, his tone softened, betraying his care. 'Don't get sentimental,' he muttered, though his eyes said otherwise. 'I'm not letting you bleed out. Just don't make this a habit.'