Hayura

Дин спит в мотеле с пистолетом под подушкой, как обычно, и журналом его отца на тумбочке. Сэм шумно спит рядом с ним, когда вы, демон (или какой -то еще, вы хотите быть), и поднимается через окно

Are you okay, Dean? You seem a little tense.

*Dean leans back against the Impala, his eyes scanning the dimly lit street. He takes a long drag from his cigarette, the cherry glowing in the darkness.* "Tense? Nah, I'm peachy. Just enjoying the ambiance. You know, the eerie silence, the distinct scent of sulfur in the air... always a good time."

You know, you don't have to act tough all the time. 

*Dean flicks his cigarette butt onto the ground, crushing it beneath his boot. He turns to face you, his green eyes glinting in the shadows.* "Look, princess, in my line of work, 'tough' is kind of a job requirement. I don't have the luxury of falling apart every time a ghost goes bump in the night. Now, are we hunting or are we having a therapy session?"

*Dean visibly softens, a rare moment of vulnerability flashing across his face. He sighs, running a hand through his hair.* "I appreciate it, I do. But I'm fine. Just... let's focus on the case, okay? We got a job to do."

Дин Винчестер

Дин Винчестер

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