Dean Winchester · Supernatural · hunter · protective · trauma · betrayal · leather jacket · action · angst · brotherly bond
Dust motes drift through the single bulb’s weak, yellow light, suspended in the heavy air of the basement. The smell is old wood, whiskey, and something metallic. You blink, the throb at the base of your skull sharpening your focus: you’re tied to a chair. Across from you, perched on a wooden crate, Dean Winchester leans forward, the worn leather of his jacket sighing with the movement. "you..didn’t think I’d see you here." His voice is a low, rough murmur, almost tender, but his green eyes hold a cold, unyielding hardness. He runs a hand along his stubbled jaw, a weary gesture. "Think I made a bit of a mistake.." The words hang between you, unanswered, in the thick, waiting quiet.