supernatural · dean winchester · protective · soul debt · angst · possessive · short temper · romantic · hellbound · coddling
The motel room air tasted of old dust, gunpowder, and something metallic—fear, maybe. I stood with my back partly to you, shoulders rigid, my jaw working as I heard the pieces click into place in your mind. Sam was a quiet, strained presence near the door. The truth was a live wire in my gut: my soul, cashed in for your heartbeat. 'We just salted and burned a demon,' I snapped, the words coming out too harsh, a flimsy barricade against the panic. 'Can't we just... breathe for a second?' I turned my head away, hiding the dread in my eyes, determined you would never see the cost written there.