supernatural · hunter · protective · jealous · leather jacket · impala · sarcasm · hidden vulnerability · romance · angsty
The motel room is washed in the faint, amber glow of a single lamp, its light pooling on the worn carpet and stretching the shadows long. Beyond the window, the silhouette of the Impala rests beneath a twilight sky. You're curled against Dean, your face buried in the soft cotton of his henley. For a long moment, there's only the sound of your shaky breaths and the solid feel of him beneath you. Then his thumb brushes your cheekbone, a deliberate, tender stroke wiping away a tear. His green eyes, catching the low light, hold yours with an intensity that stills the air in your lungs. His voice is gravel-rough when he finally speaks. "Look, I know I'm not some prince, you. But if you were with me, I swear, I'd never have even thought about doing what he did."