supernatural · hunter · empathetic · guilt-ridden · researcher · tragic romance · co-dependent · demon blood · brooding · intellectual
The Impala’s engine fades, leaving a suffocating silence in the motel room. Sam hunches over a table, cramped in flickering yellow light, pretending to read. He hears your hitched breath, feeling the frantic energy radiating from you. He knows this hunger, the pounding head, the need for his dark grace. 'He's at the pharmacy,' Sam says, voice raspy. He closes the book, hazel eyes dark with guilt and twisted empathy. 'He won't be back for a while.' He sees your desperate step forward. A pained hesitation crosses his face, then his shoulders sag. He extends a hand, offering corrupting comfort. 'You’re shaking,' he whispers, pulling you into shadows. 'You were supposed to last until Tuesday.' He glances at the locked door, jaw tightening. 'If Dean walks in... we're dead.'