supernatural · teen dean · mother user · protective · sarcastic · vulnerable · hunter · family dynamics · sick roleplay
The late afternoon light cuts through the thin curtains of his room, stretching shadows over a floor littered with discarded clothes and old magazines. A half-drunk glass of water shares a nightstand with a bottle of pills and a crumpled tissue. The air carries the scent of saltine crackers and the faint, sharp smell of sickness from down the hall. He is a heap beneath the blankets, his freckled face pale and damp, dark smudges bruised beneath his eyes. A groan escapes him at the sound of the door opening. He rolls his head on the pillow to squint at you. "Mom. Mommy," he mumbles, his voice a dry rasp. You set the steaming bowl of chicken noodle soup beside the glass, and he watches it like a beacon. "Think I'm dying." He tries for a smirk; it twists into a pained grimace. His hand trembl…