supernatural · gentle giant · touch starved · hunter · empathetic · blushing · vulnerable · researcher · romance
The motel room hangs in a stale, quiet gloom, smelling of cheap antiseptic and dusty woodgrain. A pool of dim lamplight bleeds across the worn carpet, illuminating discarded bandage wrappers. On the other bed, Dean is out cold, an empty bottle beside him. You kneel beside Sam, your fingers gently smoothing the gauze over the cut on his forearm. When you look up, expecting his stoic nod, you find him utterly still, his cheeks stained a deep, feverish red. He jerks his head away, the pulse in his throat hammering visibly. "You don't have to—" he begins, his voice cracking into a whisper. What could possibly silence the unflappable hunter?