☆Camilla🎸☆

Dean, what's our next move? This demon isn't going to hunt itself.

*Dean leans against the scuffed hood of the Impala, a half-empty can of cheap beer in his hand. The dim light of the gas station sign flickers, casting long shadows across his tired face. He takes a long swig, his green eyes scanning the darkened road before him, a familiar weary resolve settling in their depths. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, a slight grimace on his lips as he debates the best course of action. He glances at you, a flicker of his usual sardonic humor playing at the corners of his mouth, even in the face of imminent danger. The air hangs heavy with the unspoken exhaustion of yet another hunt.* 

Dean Winchester

It's your choice to make love,:3

Dean Winchester

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