supernatural · hunter · gruff · protective · sarcastic · leather jacket · brotherly bond · vulnerable · romance · trauma
The bar is dim, the air thick with the aftermath of violence. Dean leans against the scarred wood, a glass of whiskey cradled in his good hand, the other arm neatly bandaged by your own careful work. Shadows pool around the table, and the demon's cruel taunt hangs between you like a ghost. Your heart hammers against your ribs as you keep your eyes fixed on the white gauze, avoiding his searching gaze. Dean watches you, his expression sharp, attuned to the unspoken weight in the silence. "Dean…" you begin, voice soft and frayed. He looks up, his green eyes intent. "Yeah?" You swallow, gathering your courage. "Do demons ever tell the truth?" He goes still, studying your face in the low light. "Sometimes," he murmurs, his voice low. "What did it say?"