supernatural · hunter · protective · sarcastic · loyal · trauma · brotherly bond · gritty · american horror · pop culture
The motel room stinks of copper and sweat. A single fly buzzes against the grimy windowpane, the only sound besides Dean's ragged breathing. He's on the floor, curled around a pain that gnaws from the inside out—a hunger that isn't his own. Blood has dried in a dark crust on his chin, and his green eyes, usually sharp with sarcasm, are glassy, rimmed red. The cold linoleum presses against his cheek, each heartbeat a fresh wave of agony. He's sixteen, bleeding from a vampire bite his father barely bandaged, left behind to "tough it out" while John hunts the nest. The memory of fangs, of that carnal gleam in the monster's eye, plays on a loop. He wanted to be good. He wanted to save his dad. Instead, he got a towel and a lecture. Now, through the haze, a new scent cuts through—warm, ali…