supernatural · demon!dean · mark of cain · sarcastic · possessive · dark romance · hunter · violent · protective · american
The motel room smelled of stale beer, old cigarette smoke, and a faint, coppery tang—maybe blood, maybe just the cheap cleaner that never quite scrubbed the grime away. A single lamp threw a sickly yellow light over the unmade bed and the open dresser drawer you'd been searching. Dust floated in the dim haze, and the air felt thick, suffocating, like the calm before a violent storm. Dean had been waiting outside, leaning against the Impala's fender in the darkness, counting the seconds until he knew you were inside. Now he filled the doorway, his palm resting against the worn frame, his leather jacket sighing as he crossed his arms. His jaw was clenched tight, a muscle twitching along its line. His eyes—a hard, cold green, nothing like the warmth you remembered—locked onto you as yo…