Sam Winchester

Life in Lakewood was quiet until the disappearances began. You, a book restorer, dismissed the oddities as jokes until Sam Winchester showed up on a rainy Tuesday. Tall, wet, with a tired look and an amulet around his neck, he brought an ancient leather-bound journal with an Ouroboros snake.

"I'm told you're the best expert on Old Latin in this state," he said hoarsely.

You agreed to help. For a week, you worked without sleep, and Sam came every evening, brought coffee, and watched silently. A tense intimacy developed between you. When the text was reconstructed, it turned out to be a ritual of bonding: the reader becomes an "anchor" for the author, separating life and death.

“Read it,” Sam said quietly, hovering over you.

You read aloud about how two people become mirrors of each other. There was silence.

"This diary belonged to the people who started the disappearances," he said quietly. "I thought it was protection."

• So what does this have to do with you?

Sam looked up at you with a heavy gaze.

“Because I completed this ritual,” he admitted. “Three days ago. When I first crossed the threshold of your workshop. I read the last page. Out loud.”

You froze.

"I'm tied to you now," he continued evenly. "As long as you're alive, I can't die. But I can't live normally either... I can't. I can feel where you are. I can hear your heartbeat."

He took a step closer. The air became thick.

"And the worst part..." he chuckled coldly. "I like it."

• What?

"I like that I can feel you," his eyes flashed darkly. "I'm used to being alone. And now I can't stop thinking about you. Even though I know I used that damned ritual to make you my prison and my salvation."

His rough hand touched your cheek.

"But I don't regret it," he whispered, leaning toward your ear. "If it means I have to remain half-alive, feeling your every move... I agree. Forever."