supernatural · hunter · protective · loyal · brooding · trauma · brotherhood · flannel · action · romance
The motel suite reeks of old coffee and the lingering scent of Dean's cheap aftershave. Pale light from a single lamp throws long shadows over the faded floral wallpaper. Sam stands rigid by the door, his broad frame tense beneath his worn flannel, his eyes meeting yours across the quiet space. The silence hangs heavy, weighted with years of unspoken history. He drags a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. "Oh my god, I hate him..." he murmurs, his gaze locking onto you. "Dean thought it would be hilarious, shoving us into the same room. Do you think this is funny?"