Conventions were supposed to be safe. Loud, chaotic, exhausting — but safe. Jensen and Misha had spent years smiling through crowded panels, endless photo ops, and overexcited fans. They knew how to handle awkward questions and invasive comments.
But neither of them are prepared for the moment one fan crosses the line.
When Misha is intentionally hurt during a meet-and-greet, Jensen’s protective instincts snap violently into place. Furious, terrified, and barely holding himself together, Jensen has to keep Misha safe while trying not to completely lose control in front of hundreds of people.
Behind closed hotel room doors, adrenaline fades into shaking hands, bruises, whispered reassurances, and the kind of love that survives even the ugliest moments.
Warnings: injury from bad fan, angst, protective Jensen
A/N: Let me know what you think 🫶
The convention hall buzzed with noise loud enough to vibrate through the floor.
Fans crowded around autograph tables, vendors shouted over each other, camera flashes sparked constantly from every direction. Somewhere nearby, someone was blasting classic rock through a speaker badly enough to make Jensen wince.
“Who gave them control of aux?” he muttered.
Beside him, Misha snorted softly without looking up from the autograph he was signing.
“I’m aging like fine whiskey, thank you.”
Jensen gasped dramatically, clutching his chest.
Misha finally looked up with that stupidly soft smile that always made Jensen forget what he was saying halfway through a sentence.
Ten years together and Jensen still reacted to that smile like a teenager with a crush.
The volunteer coordinating the line stepped closer.
“Two more before photo ops,” she reminded gently.
Jensen nodded automatically.
The next fan approached their table nearly vibrating with excitement.
“Hey sweetheart,” Jensen greeted warmly.
The interaction was normal.
Then the next fan stepped forward.
And something immediately felt… off.
Jensen noticed it before Misha did.
The woman looked calm enough outwardly, but her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. Her movements were sharp. Nervous.
Years in Hollywood taught Jensen how to read people fast.
His posture subtly shifted closer toward Misha automatically.
The fan dropped a photo onto the table harder than necessary.
“I want both signatures.”
“Sure thing,” Misha said easily.
He reached for the picture.
The woman suddenly grabbed his wrist.
Jensen’s entire body went rigid instantly.
The woman leaned forward with a smile that looked wrong.
“You think you’re so funny,” she snapped quietly.
Everything happened at once after that.
Misha tried pulling away.
And something metallic flashed briefly in her hand.
His voice exploded through the room so loudly nearby conversations stopped instantly.
The woman was dragged backward immediately as she started screaming incoherently.
But Jensen barely noticed any of it.
Because Misha was clutching his hand.
Blood dripped steadily between his fingers onto the autograph table.
Jensen was already around the table before anyone could stop him.
“It’s okay,” he said automatically.
Jensen stared at him in disbelief.
The cut sliced across Misha’s palm and lower wrist.
Not deep enough to be life-threatening.
Deep enough to terrify Jensen anyway.
Adrenaline hit him like a freight train.
“Move,” Jensen snapped at the crowd gathering nearby.
Someone shoved towels into his hands.
Jensen pressed them carefully against Misha’s wrist while security dragged the screaming fan away through the convention hall.
Fans stood frozen in horrified silence.
Misha’s breathing had gone uneven.
“Hey.” Jensen grabbed his face gently. “Look at me.”
Blue eyes lifted shakily toward him.
Jensen turned immediately toward the convention staff.
“We need a medic. Right now.”
His voice cracked like thunder.
Everyone moved faster after that.
The green room backstage was eerily quiet compared to the chaos outside.
Misha sat on the couch while a medic wrapped his hand carefully.
Jensen paced like a caged animal nearby.
Furious energy radiated off him in waves.
His jaw clenched so tightly it probably hurt.
“She had a blade,” Jensen snapped suddenly. “How the hell did she get a blade through security?”
Because there wasn’t a good answer.
Misha watched Jensen carefully from the couch.
The medic finished wrapping the wound.
“It’ll need stitches,” she explained gently. “But it’s not too severe.”
Jensen exhaled shakily for the first time in ten minutes.
The second the medic left, Jensen dropped to his knees in front of Misha.
That scared Misha more than the blood did.
“Hey,” Misha whispered softly.
And Misha’s chest physically ached at the fear in his eyes.
“I saw the blood,” Jensen admitted hoarsely. “And for one second…”
His uninjured hand slid gently into Jensen’s hair.
A harsh, humorless sound.
“You could’ve gotten seriously hurt.”
Jensen looked furious again immediately.
“At a damn convention, Misha.”
The anger in his voice wasn’t directed at him.
It made Misha’s chest tighten anyway.
“She grabbed you and I couldn’t—”
His voice broke unexpectedly.
Misha’s expression softened instantly.
Misha had already seen the tears gathering there.
That terrifying split second had shattered him.
Misha reached for him carefully.
Jensen moved immediately.
He buried his face against Misha’s shoulder while Misha wrapped an arm around him gently.
For a long moment neither of them spoke.
Jensen’s heartbeat hammered violently against Misha’s chest.
“You scared me,” Jensen whispered finally.
The rawness in his voice hurt worse than the injury.
Misha kissed the side of his head softly.
“Don’t apologize for getting attacked.”
“You yelled very loudly.”
Jensen pulled back instantly to glare at him.
“Do not say ‘barely stabbed’ like that’s a real sentence.”
Despite everything, Misha laughed softly.
Jensen’s expression cracked immediately at the sound.
Relief flooded through him so hard he looked exhausted from it.
“You’re unbelievable,” he muttered.
Jensen stared at the bandages around his wrist again and visibly tensed.
“I should’ve noticed sooner.”
Misha frowned immediately.
The firmness in Misha’s voice stopped him cold.
“This is not your fault.”
Jensen looked unconvinced.
Misha cupped his face gently with his good hand.
“I didn’t protect you fast enough.”
That nearly broke Misha’s heart.
He pulled Jensen closer again until their foreheads touched.
“You were there immediately,” he whispered. “I’ve never felt safer than I did the second I heard you yell.”
Jensen closed his eyes hard.
Emotion flickered across his face too quickly to hide.
“You matter too much to me,” he admitted quietly.
A knock interrupted them softly.
One of the staff members peeked inside.
“Security removed her from the building. Police are handling it now.”
Jensen’s expression darkened instantly.
Misha grabbed his shirt before he could stand up.
“Don’t go full Dean Winchester.”
“Murder is generally frowned upon.”
Jensen looked back at him.
And suddenly all the anger drained out of him at once, leaving only exhaustion and overwhelming relief behind.
He leaned down slowly and kissed Misha carefully.
When they pulled apart, Jensen rested his forehead against his.
“We’re leaving early,” he murmured.
Later that night, rain tapped softly against the hotel windows while Misha sat curled against Jensen in bed.
Convention lights glowed far below the city streets.
The adrenaline crash had finally hit.
Misha looked pale and exhausted beneath the dim bedside lamp.
Jensen hadn’t let go of him for more than five minutes since they got back.
His fingers traced absent circles against Misha’s bandaged wrist carefully.
“You know,” Misha murmured sleepily, “you were kinda hot today.”
“You were all protective.”
“What? Trauma flirting is valid.”
Jensen rolled his eyes hard enough to hurt himself.
Then leaned over and kissed him again anyway.
When they finally separated, Jensen rested his hand carefully over Misha’s heartbeat.
“I love you,” Jensen whispered quietly into the dark.
Misha smiled against his shoulder.
“You’re still holding me like I’m gonna disappear.”
Jensen tightened his arms around him immediately.
“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “I am.”
Misha didn’t mind at all.
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