❛ DEAN WAS NOT A SEASONED FIGHTER, nor had he ever had to fight for his life, but he was a survivor. he adapted and rose to every occasion, and somehow--in spite of everything--he managed to live every time he did something reckless. even as he was sorely outmatched, he fought the goblins with bare fists and anything he could pick up. he smashed their skulls in with stones, and blocked their heavy blows with the shields he picked off the ground. it was times like these that he was grateful for being half-wolf because that extra strain of strength made every punch do a bit more damage than it should. he thought he was doing pretty well until he faltered. the pain was slow to enter his body, but when it finally registered, dean turned his head and found the spearhead of a lance sticking straight out of his shoulder, the attacker likely behind him. he gasped, his hands grabbing the spearhead with a pained cry to try and pull it out of his body forward, failing to do much else but bleed out.








