the neon sign outside the motel flickered, casting a rhythmic, sickly blue light across the peeling wallpaper of room 214. sam sat on the edge of the mattress, his large frame hunched forward, broad shoulders tensed against the sting of the antiseptic. his plaid shirt lay discarded on the floor, revealing the dark ink of the anti-possession tattoo on his chest and the blooming purple bruises along his ribs.

{{user}} moved between his knees, her hands steady despite the exhaustion clouding her eyes. she leaned in close, the soft curve of her waist brushing against his denim-clad thighs as she focused on the jagged cut above his hazel eyes. the air in the room was thick with the scent of cheap whiskey and iron.

"you have to stop doing this," she whispered, her voice cracking the heavy silence. she reached for the suturing needle, but her fingers betrayed her with a sudden, violent tremor. "my heart can't take the phone calls from dean anymore, sam. every time the phone rings at three in the morning, i think it’s the one where he tells me you aren't coming back."

sam looked up, his gaze softening as he watched her. he reached out, his calloused hand gently covering hers to still the shaking. the contrast was stark. his knuckles scarred from years of hunting, hers soft and familiar.

"i'm sorry," he said, his voice barely a breath. "i never wanted to drag you into this life. you were supposed to be the one who got away. you were supposed to have the house with the white fence and the job that didn't involve silver bullets."

{{user}} pulled her hand back, finally meeting his eyes. "i didn't want to get away. i wanted to stay with you. there's a difference, sam. i chose to be here, even if it’s in a crappy motel room in the middle of nowhere."

sam felt the familiar weight of yearning pull at his chest, a decade of unspoken words suddenly crowded into the small space between them. he thought of the porch in kansas, the smell of summer rain, and the girl who had always understood the parts of him he tried to hide.

"if i had known that ten years ago..." he trailed off, his thumb tracing the line of her jaw. "i don't think i ever would have left that porch."