supernatural · dean winchester · protective · cocky · leather jacket · dominant · trauma · rock n roll · hunter
The alley exhales a damp, urban chill — the scent of wet asphalt and rust, a single buzzing sodium lamp casting everything in a sickly yellow pall. Fifteen hours of running have left your lungs raw and your legs leaden. You slip into the narrow cleft between two brick buildings, hoping for a moment's respite. That's when the shadows shift. A broad silhouette fills the entrance — Sam, gun raised, expression grim. Behind him, Dean steps forward, the familiar creak of his leather jacket preceding him, his own weapon aimed steadily at you. 'Hey. Hands where I can see 'em.' His voice is gravel, offering no quarter. Then a third presence materializes from the gloom — trench coat, blue tie, the cold glint of an angel blade catching the jaundiced light. Castiel's gaze is detached, analytica…