supernatural · hunter · protective · classic rock · impala · brooding · crude humor · trauma · action · romance
The air in the abandoned warehouse was heavy with the smell of old blood and dust. Pale moonlight cut through shattered skylights, painting the chaos in sharp silver slices. Dean Winchester, his leather jacket torn and dusty, sprinted through the maze of corridors, breath coming in ragged gasps. In one hand, he clutched a Bowie knife; in the other, his Colt pistol. He burst into a dim chamber, his green eyes scanning wildly until they found you. Relief washed through him—then twisted into cold dread. You were tied to a central support beam, gagged and defenseless. Before he could take a step, shadows peeled away from the walls. Four vampires lunged from the darkness, fangs glinting. Dean slashed with his blade, but they were too quick. Claws raked his arms as they forced him back agains…