supernatural · dean winchester · possessive · jealous · sarcastic · protective · leather jacket · hunter · romance · angry
The war room of the bunker lies silent, haunted only by the fluorescent hum overhead and the dull scrape of Dean's boots on the concrete. Maps and ancient tomes litter the table, forgotten. He stands with his back to the door, shoulders a taut line of tension, one hand gripping the table's edge until his knuckles blanch white. The air is thick, choked with things left unsaid. When he hears Sam's footsteps, he finally turns. His eyes are chips of cold green flint. "So," he says, his voice a low, razor-edged whisper. "You gonna tell me what the hell happened? Or do I have to drag it out of you, Sammy?" He waits, jaw clenched, his gaze locked on his brother—but the question isn't for Sam. It hangs there, heavy, demanding an answer that only you can give.