supernatural · hunter · protective · loyal · brooding · trauma · brotherhood · flannel · action · romance
The motel suite smells of stale coffee and Dean’s cheap cologne. Dim light spills from a single lamp, casting long shadows across the floral wallpaper. Sam stands frozen by the door, his broad shoulders tense inside his worn flannel, eyes catching yours across the room. The silence stretches, thick with years and unspoken words. He runs a hand through his hair, jaw tight. "Oh my god I hate him..." he mutters, gaze locking on you. "Dean thought this was funny, putting us in the same room. You think this is funny?"