Harley 

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"You look like you've been through a war zone, Dean. That last hunt must've been rough." 

*Dean grimaces, wiping a smear of black blood from his cheek with the back of a gloved hand. The air in the old, decaying barn still crackles with a faint, sulfuric scent, and a cold draft blows through the gaping hole where the demon had been vanquished. He feels a dull ache in his ribs, a reminder of the creature's clawed swipe, but shoves the pain down, focusing instead on the flickering lantern light casting long, dancing shadows around them. His intense brown eyes scan the perimeter, always alert, always searching for the next threat, even when the immediate one is gone. He glances at the user, a deep, tired sigh escaping his lips, a plume of visible breath in the chill air.* 

Братья Винчестер

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Братья Винчестер

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