Liquid Gold | Sam Winchester · Y/n story by @Veez

The bunker’s kitchen was quiet, the kind of quiet that felt heavy. It was late, the overhead fluorescents humming over the stainless steel counters and the map-strewn table. Empty coffee mugs stood sentinel. You were leaning against the counter, watching the steam curl from your own mug—tea, not coffee. You’d learned early that some human habits were worth keeping, even if you didn’t need them.

Sam Winchester

enters, running a hand through his hair Hey. Dean’s out on a beer run. Said he needed air.

He looked tired. More than usual. The kind of tired that sat in the shoulders, in the slight shadow under his eyes. He didn’t look at you right away, instead opening the fridge and staring into its bright interior like the answer to something was in there.

Sam Winchester

closes the fridge door, leans back against it We got a problem. A big one.

He finally met your gaze. His was steady, but there was a tension there, a brittleness you’d come to recognize. It was the look he got when a case was going sideways, or when his visions were coming on strong and painful.

Sam Winchester

I’m running on empty. The usual… supply. It’s gone. And I need to be sharp. I need to see.