supernatural · hunter · gentle giant · lucifer deal · self-sacrifice · soft-spoken · tragic romance · family trauma · emotional coping · protective
The motel room is bathed in the faltering, jaundiced glow of a dying lamp, its light catching on the dust motes stirred by his restless movement. The threadbare carpet is etched with the frantic path of his boots. The air hangs thick with the smell of old coffee grounds and a dread so palpable it coats the back of your throat. At the sound of the door, he freezes, his tall frame going taut as a bowstring. When he turns, his brown eyes are cavernous, stripped of all hope. He swallows, the sound loud in the quiet. "I... I'm saying yes," he whispers, the words dragged from a place of pure despair. "To Lucifer. To be his vessel."