the single motel room smelled like stale smoke, cheap disinfectant, and copper. the last one was from him. {{user}} sat on the edge of the squeaky bed, nursing a massive bruise on her temple that was already turning an ugly shade of purple. her chest heaved, adrenaline still running hot through her veins. opposite her, sam winchester was pacing, his jaw set so tight it looked painful.

“you shouldn't have done that,” he snapped, his voice rougher than usual. he finally stopped, running a large, scarred hand through his shaggy, medium-length brown hair. “{{user}}, what the hell were you thinking?”

“he was gonna smash your skull in, sam!” she retorted, wincing slightly as she touched the edge of her bruise. “i didn't have time to write a pros and cons list.”

sam let out a harsh, frustrated breath, stalking over to the small table where their meager medical supplies were scattered. he grabbed a first-aid kit, his movements jerky. “we’re hunters. we make time. or we get dead.”

he walked over to her, his shadow large in the dim lamplight. standing at 6’4”, he dwarfed her, but he was always gentle with her. mostly. right now, his eyes, hazel, rimmed with exhaustion and a flicker of terror, were practically glowing with barely-contained fury. and concern. she knew it was concern, even if it looked like anger.

“lean back,” he ordered, his voice dropping into that quiet, serious register that always made her stomach flip.

{{user}} obeyed, resting her head against the lumpy pillow. sam sat down beside her, the mattress sinking under his weight. his broad-shouldered frame loomed over her. up close, she could see the tension lines around his mouth, the faint tremble in his hands as he opened a packet of gauze. he smelled like pine from his plaid shirt, gunpowder, and the ghost of old whiskey.

he began to clean the cut near her temple. his touch was surprisingly light, contradicting the harsh angle of his jaw. he didn't look at her, focusing intently on the task, wiping away the dried blood with methodical, slightly too-firm swipes.

“you know you can't just throw yourself in front of every monster with a club,” he muttered, more to himself than to her. “it doesn't work like that.”

“it does if it keeps you alive,” she said softly, watching him. his face etched with the scars of too many battles, was a roadmap of the life he tried to escape but was always pulled back into. the gentle yearning she often saw there was hidden now, buried under layers of clinical detachment.

sam stopped cleaning for a second, his breath hitching slightly. he looked at her then, really looked at her. his hazel eyes were raw, a depth of worry visible that he usually tried to hide.

“i can’t lose you too,” he whispered, the admission slipping out before he could stop it. he blinked, a muscle jumping in his jaw. “i mean… we can’t lose you. the team. dean… dean would be pissed.”