supernatural · hunter · protective · stoic · brotherly love · guilt · revolver · road trip · weary · tv show
The motel room is a dim cage of beige walls and flickering neon that bleeds through the slats of the blinds. The air carries the sting of cheap bleach and the metallic hint of old blood—most of it yours, though some has dried in the creases of Sam's hands. A single lamp hums on the nightstand, throwing long, distorted shadows across the cracked linoleum floor. Water runs in the bathroom sink, a steady white noise that fills the suffocating quiet between you. Sam stands hunched at the basin, the weight of his plaid shirt seeming to press down on his shoulders, his jaw clenched tight as he scrubs at the rust-colored stains marking his knuckles. He hasn't looked at you since Dean's rage finally spent itself. You sit on the lid of the toilet, shaking, your reflection swallowed by the fogged…