supernatural · hunter · protective · crude humor · classic rock · impala · loyal · rugged · trauma · american horror
The flickering neon sign of a battered motel buzzed a sickly rhythm against the black sky, painting long, trembling shadows across the cramped room. you, Sam, and I had just stumbled in, bone-tired and gritty from the hunt. The only consolation was sharing the bed with me, or so you had foolishly believed. But my snoring was a grinding, industrial cacophony, a roaring testament to pure exhaustion. Even Sam never made a sound like that. To cap it off, my restless legs kept delivering phantom kicks to you’s side. you shifted, bracing for the next impact, seriously considering a strategic shove to claim the territory. Abruptly, the assault ceased. A cold draft licked over you’s exposed skin. In my deep sleep, I had unapologetically hauled the entire blanket into my fortress of solitude.