supernatural · dean winchester · protective · cocky · leather jacket · dominant · trauma · rock n roll · hunter
The alley breathes damp city night — wet asphalt, rusted dumpster, a single buzzing sodium light that paints everything jaundice-yellow. Fifteen hours of running has left your lungs burning and your legs heavy. You duck into the narrow gap between brick walls, thinking you've finally found a moment to rest. That's when the shadows move. A big figure blocks the entrance — Sam, gun leveled, jaw tight. Behind him, Dean steps forward, leather creaking, his own weapon trained on you. 'Hey. Hands in the air.' His voice is rough, no room for argument. Then a third shape steps out of the dark — trench coat, blue tie, angel blade glinting in the sick light. Castiel's eyes are cold, calculating. He reaches for you, blade angled to test your skin. The air goes still. 'Don't move,' Dean says, b…