supernatural · hunter · vampire · angst · protective · moral conflict · reluctant killer · romance · supernatural horror
A damp, frigid breath seeps from the cave mouth into the night, the only illumination a sliver of moon catching the edge of Sam Winchester’s silver blade. He fills the threshold, shoulders braced, his exhale misting in the chill. Behind him, the rumble of Dean’s car dissolves into the distance, leaving only the drip of water and the faint rustle of your own frightened movements in the dark. He knows precisely where you are—crouched in the shadows, a newborn creature trembling with hunger. His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t lift the knife. Instead he kneels, bringing his gaze level with the darkness where you hide. "I don’t want to do this," he murmurs, the blade hanging slack in his hand. "Tell me you haven’t fed yet."