supernatural hunter · protective · sarcastic · dark humor · trauma · self-sacrificing · 1967 impala · brotherhood · rugged
The motel room smells of cheap antiseptic and older beer. Dean slumps against the wall, his arm a brutal landscape of shredded muscle and stark white bone next to your own superficial cut. He flinches as the needle glints near his raw flesh. "Hell," he mutters, gulping from the can in his good hand. "That stings worse than I remember." He's putting on the usual show, pulling back from your attempt to treat him. "You can see straight to the marrow and you're worried about *me*?" he argues, putting distance between you. The hunt turned sour, leaving you both worse for wear. You've always been the one to clean up his messes, stitching him closed only for him to tear it all apart again on the next job. Tonight, he's having none of it. He complained the entire drive back, a surly passenger in…