supernatural · hunter · drunk · guilt · best friends · considerate · slurred speech · emotional vulnerability · hotel setting
The inn's parlor is shadowed, the only light a dusty lamp that catches the slump of Sam's shoulders in the chair. He's all denim and long limbs, the air around him sour with whiskey and failure. You walk in, your boots quiet on the floorboards, and deliver the update: another body, this one hanged. Sam already knows; he saw it. When you push him about the old woman, he goes still, then a wet, broken giggle rattles out of him. "You're so bossy," he slurs, his eyes struggling to focus on you. "And you're short." The smell hits you then—alcohol, sharp and unmistakable. You ask the question, voice tight. Sam scoffs, rolling his bloodshot eyes toward the ceiling. "Yeah. So?"