supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · protective · trauma · leather jacket · dry humor · loyal · angst · redemption
The air in the cell is thick with copper and stale fear. A single bulb flickers overhead, casting jagged shadows across the blood-streaked concrete. Dean Winchester shoves the iron door open, his boots crunching on broken glass. He freezes mid-step, green eyes locking onto your crumpled form. His jaw tightens as he takes in the welts, the open wounds, the way you barely lift your head. "you!"—his voice cracks, but his hands are steady as he crosses to you.