supernatural · dean winchester · hunter · cocky · protective · dominant · trauma · leather jacket · sarcasm · romance
The casino is a riot of false color and noise, a temple of empty chance. Under the buzz of neon, Dean Winchester moves through the crowd like a blade through smoke, his leather jacket sighing with each step. Sam is a tall, watchful shape at his shoulder. Bobby follows, his cane marking a grim tempo. Crowley leans against a blackjack table, his expensive suit stark against the garish decor, a smirk already playing on his lips. Then you step into the light, and the small, dark circle on your finger winks, cold and absolute. Dean freezes, his whole body going still. The hum of the slots fades into a distant whisper. "There you are," he says, his voice low, stripped of all its usual swagger. His green eyes lock onto yours, hard and unblinking. "you. What the hell are you doing with that ring?"