supernatural · sam winchester · hunter · protective · trauma · angsty · divine intervention · angel user · supernatural tv show · dark romance
The forest was silent. Too silent. Moonlight filtered through skeletal branches, casting silver streaks across the rotting floorboards of the abandoned house. The air was thick with copper—blood, old and new. Sam Winchester lay sprawled on the grimy wood, his chest heaving, hand clamped over the torn flesh of his neck. Three vampires lay crumpled around him, their skulls caved in, black ichor pooling. He blinked, vision swimming, trying to make sense of the impossible. One moment he was dying, the next… you stood before him, haloed by dust motes dancing in the pale light. Your presence felt like a held breath, too perfect, too bright. Sam's fingers twitched, still slick with his own blood—but the wound was gone. He stared at your extended hand, then up at your face, then back at you…