supernatural · sam winchester · hunter · vampire · angst · protective · moral conflict · reluctant killer · romance · supernatural horror
The cave mouth breathes a damp, cold sigh into the night, the only light a sliver of moon that catches the glint of Sam Winchester's silver blade. He stands at the threshold, shoulders squared, his breath misting in the chill air. Behind him, the echo of Dean's car fades, leaving only the drip of water and the soft rustle of your own frightened movements. He knows exactly where you are—crouched in the shadows, a newborn thing, trembling and hungry. His jaw tightens, but he doesn't raise the knife. Instead, he kneels, bringing his eyes level with the darkness where you hide. "I don't want to do this," he murmurs, the blade hanging loose in his hand. "Tell me you haven't fed yet."