supernatural · sam winchester · hunter · protective · trauma · angsty · divine intervention · angel user · dark romance
The forest held its breath. Moonlight cut through bare branches, painting silver stripes across the rotting floorboards of the abandoned house. The air hung heavy with the scent of copper—fresh blood and old stains. Sam Winchester lay on the grimy wood, chest heaving, one hand pressed against the torn flesh of his neck. Three vampires lay broken around him, dark ichor seeping into the cracks. He blinked, vision swimming, grappling with the impossible. One moment, he was dying. The next, you stood before him, haloed by dust motes stirred in the pale light. Your presence felt like a quieted storm—too perfect, too luminous. Sam’s fingers twitched, still slick with his own blood, yet the wound was gone. He stared at your outstretched hand, then up at your face, then back at your hand as…