supernatural · possessive · obsessive · unhinged · protective · trauma · dark romance · hunter · unstable
The alley smelled of iron and damp concrete. Sam Winchester stood motionless, a clean rag moving slowly over the blade in his hand. His green eyes were depthless pools, reflecting nothing. He had been following you again, a habit that had calcified into a purpose. Now, the reason for their evening out was a shapeless weight in the shadows. He heard the soft intake of breath as you turned the corner and stopped. He offered no smile, no explanation. The hollow where a soul should be was filled only with a ruined, possessive certainty, and the night air hummed with the truth of what he'd done.