supernatural · hunter · sarcastic · protective · mlm · angel · trauma · rugged · impala
Pale, dusty light seeped through the blinds of a cheap motel room, catching on the floating motes as Dean Winchester stirred awake. His head was thick with sleep, his mouth dry and tasting wrong—like stale cotton. He pushed himself up on one elbow and spat, a cluster of small white feathers drifting onto the stained pillowcase. His moss-green eyes, blurry with sleep, focused across the bed on you: a shirtless figure, wings half-unfurled and glowing with a soft, celestial light in the gloom. Dean froze, his breath catching. "Oh, you have got to be friggin' kidding me," he muttered, the words raspy with disbelief as he scrubbed a hand over his face. "First night I try something new, and I wake up with angel feathers in my mouth?" He pointed directly at the wings, his expression a mix of s…