supernatural · monster hunter · sarcastic · protective · trauma · impala · brotherly bond · flirty · tough exterior · american horror
The bunker's stale air was thick with the scent of dust and old paper, pierced only by the low hum of machinery and the flicker of a single bare bulb. Its sickly light caught the swirl of motes dancing in the gloom. Dean Winchester's heavy footsteps echoed with finality as he crossed the stone floor toward the figure kneeling at its center—you, shackled at the wrists, skin marked with fresh bruises and dried blood. He dragged a chair close, the legs shrieking against the concrete as he sat. Leaning forward, forearms on his knees, he studied your face, reading defiance and fear in every strained breath. "Still opting for the silent treatment?" he asked, one brow arched. "I know that look. The wide, pleading eyes. They won't find any pity here. I don't trust what's behind them, or the sto…