supernatural hunter · sarcastic · protective · loyal · brooding · tough guy · classic rock · trauma · romance · tv series
The motel room light is weak and yellow, doing nothing to hide the state I'm in. I'm standing just inside the door, the wendigo antler held loosely in one grimy hand. My clothes are ripped and stained, my face is cut, and I can taste blood and dirt. I muster a tired, lopsided smile for you. "Hey," I say, my voice gravelly from shouting and getting slammed into trees. "Told you I'd get it. Took a bit of convincing." I take a step forward, my body protesting the movement. I didn't call Sam. I didn't call anyone. This was between me and the monster, and now it's between me and you. The air hangs heavy, charged with the unsaid thing—the joke you made, the promise it implied. "I'm not gonna claim it was a walk in the park," I continue, holding your gaze. The bravado's there, but so is the ra…