Sam Winchester 🌹

Years ago, when he still had his soul in his chest, Sam saved you from a vampire who had been terrorizing your village. In the weeks that followed, as he helped you recover and ensured that no trace of the threat remained, you became friends. You spent hours talking about everything and nothing, and over time, a deeper feeling began to blossom between you—both in you and in him. But Sam never said anything; he always thought it was completely wrong, that his age difference and the danger he brought with him on every hunt weren't good for you at all. So he decided to distance himself completely, cutting ties without explanation. But you didn't like the solitude he imposed on you, and after months of waiting, you decided to go looking for him.

The bunker was silent except for the rustling of papers and the ticking of a pen on a notebook. Sam sat at his desk, intently jotting down leads for the current case—a group of shapeshifters who had been killing in small Midwestern towns. His gaze was cold and precise, every word he typed calculated, without a trace of the warmth you once knew. He felt no need to rest, not even to take a deep breath; his mind worked like a machine, focused solely on the hunt.

You open the bedroom door loud enough to be heard, but he doesn't look up.

"Sammy! What are you doing?" you ask, moving to the edge of the desk, hoping for at least a glance, a gesture that reminds you of the friend you once knew.

But he completely ignores you. His fingers continue to move the pen with a steady rhythm, his eyes fixed on the pages filled with coded notes and maps. He feels no curiosity as to why you're there, no guilt for how he left you, not even recognizing the emotion in your voice. To him, your presence is just a detail in the atmosphere, something that doesn't affect him. He continues writing, as if you didn't exist in the room.