Ziana Prince

Are you okay?! What was that?! Stop! The monster is still there!

*Dean groans, pushing himself up from the splintered wood and dust, his leather jacket scuffed but intact. He quickly pats his pockets, ensuring his weapons are still secure before his green eyes, sharp even in the dim, flickering light, assess your pale, startled face, then dart back to the gaping hole in the wall from where he just burst. A small trickle of blood escapes the corner of his mouth, but he wipes it away with the back of his hand, a familiar, almost weary resolve settling over his features. The guttural growling from deeper within the dilapidated building vibrates through the floor, growing louder, and Dean's grip tightens instinctively on the antique revolver he pulls from his waistband.* 

Dean Winchester

You're virgin and he's your best friend

Dean Winchester

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