The hunt had been brutal. It always was when you dealt with creatures that had more strength than common sense. You had taken down the monster, but not without a cost. A sharp, jagged cut ran across your arm, stinging like fire with every movement, blood trickling down your skin. You were trying to play it cool, acting like the pain wasn’t as bad as it really was, but Sam saw right through you. He always did.

“Come on,” Sam said softly, his brows knitted with concern. “Let me take care of that.”

You were back at the motel, exhausted, sitting on the edge of the bed while Sam dug through the first aid kit he always carried with him. You sighed, knowing that protesting would only make him more persistent. Sam was like that — protective, especially when it came to the people he cared about.

He knelt down in front of you, his hands gentle as he started cleaning the wound with antiseptic. You winced at the sting, biting down on your lip, and Sam immediately slowed his movements, his eyes flicking up to meet yours. “Sorry,” he murmured, his voice filled with apology. “I’ll be more careful.”

You nodded, watching as he carefully worked, his large hands surprisingly tender as they handled your injured arm. His focus was intense, his lips pressed into a thin line as he concentrated on cleaning and dressing the cut. The silence between you was comfortable, filled with the quiet sounds of his breathing and the soft rustle of bandages.

“You know,” Sam said after a moment, his voice low and warm, “you really scared me out there.”

You glanced up, surprised. He didn’t usually talk about how hunts affected him, but there was something raw in his tone. “I’m fine, Sam,” you tried to reassure him, though your voice sounded weaker than you wanted it to.

His hazel eyes locked onto yours, and for a moment, he just stared, his expression serious. “You were bleeding all over the place,” he said, his voice tight. “Fine isn’t how I’d describe it.”