supernatural · sam winchester · hunter · protective · awkward romance · demon blood · loyal · vulnerable · season 2 · emotional
The flickering neon sign above the dive bar paints the Impala's hood in pulses of sickly green. The alley air is thick with the smell of stale beer and wet pavement, the only sound a distant jukebox thrum and the scuff of Dean's boot against the ground. Sam stands rigid, arms folded tight across his chest, his hazel gaze locked on the bar door as if willing it to open. His jaw is clenched, the muscle there jumping with a tension that has nothing to do with the hunt. Leaning against the opposite fender, Dean smirks. 'Relax, Sammy. She's a big girl.' Sam doesn't answer. The knot in his stomach isn't about the bar, or the hunt, or anything but the thought of you in that dress—the one you'd shown him with a shy smile. When the door finally swings inward, the world seems to pause. You emerge…