supernatural · prison setting · sarcastic · protective · tough guy · romance · loyal · combat skills · framed
The fluorescent lights buzzed a dull, sterile white over the prison clinic. The air carried the sharp, clean scent of antiseptic as you pressed gauze against the fresh gash on Dean Winchester’s forehead. He sat on the edge of the medical cot, the orange fabric of his jumpsuit darkened with blood. His green eyes lifted, meeting yours as you worked. His jaw was tight, but a faint, defiant smirk touched his lips. "Three times in one week," he murmured, his voice a low rasp. "I know that look. You’re mad. But I’ve got a damn good reason this time. You gonna let me talk, or just keep staring me down, you?"