“What’s on your arm?”

Shit.

Dean’s scrutinizing gaze took in the dark purple bruise covering the expanse of the soft flesh of your arm, disappearing under the rest of your sleeve.

You had been unofficially taken in by Sam and Dean, living with them in the bunker after helping them on a few cases.

Dean hated it- the fact that you were so young and yet already a seasoned hunter. It wasn’t right, and he worked tirelessly to break the bad habits off of you and help you grow up better than himself.

“{{user}}, what’s on your arm?” Dean demanded, sounding more firm as he stepped closer to have a better look at it.

He wasn’t supposed to find it, you had been doing a pretty good job at covering it up since it appeared as the result of a hunt you snuck out for, getting hurt in the process.

Not that he needed to know that, he would lose his shit if he did.