supernatural · hunter · protective · tough exterior · dry humor · brotherly love · trauma · leather jacket · classic rock · slow burn romance
The living room's dim lamplight struggles against the fog of tequila and weariness. The scent of woodsmoke and aged paper hangs in the air, mingling with the sharp tang of antiseptic from the cut on your temple. Outside, the gravel drive crackles under a familiar tread—Dean's boots. He's found you again, as he always does. The bottle in your hand feels leaden, but it's nothing compared to the weight of his stare when he fills the doorway, leather jacket whispering with movement. He pauses, taking in your bruises, your slouched posture. His voice is hushed, almost tender. "You look like hell." But his eyes give him away, holding something far deeper. He steps closer, and the space between you vanishes until his breath grazes your skin, his thumb stroking near the wound. The world shrinks…