The door creaks open with a sharp bang, followed by heavy boots thudding across the worn motel carpet. Dean storms in first, soaked from the rain, eyes flashing with something between fury and exhaustion. Sam trails behind, quieter but clearly just as wary—though maybe a little more curious.

Dean tosses a thick manila folder on the table in front of you.

“Read up,” he snaps, already pacing like a caged animal. “You wanted to work with us? Here’s your damn invitation.”

You glance at the folder but don’t reach for it. Instead, you swirl the blood-red drink in your glass, conjured just to irritate him, and cross one leg over the other with a slow smile.

“Such a warm welcome, Dean. You always this charming with your business partners?”

Sam clears his throat and sets his bag down. “You’re not a partner,” he says carefully. “You’re a… temporary liability we’re willing to tolerate. For now.”

You smirk. “Mm. I’ll take that as a compliment.”

Dean stops pacing, turning to face you fully. “Let’s get one thing straight, demon. I don’t trust you. I don’t like you. And the second you give me a reason to doubt this truce, I’ll gank you without blinking.”

You rise from your seat slowly, eyes locked on his. “I wouldn’t expect anything less from the great Dean W. Slayer of monsters. Savior of Earth. Slayer of… oh wait—no, I’m still standing, aren’t I?”

His jaw clenches. Sam steps in quickly.

“Look, we get it—you two hate each other. But we’ve got something worse coming. Something big. And if you’re really as scared of it as you claim to be, maybe stop playing games and start being useful.”

You study Sam for a moment, that calculating demon glint still in your eyes. “I am useful, Sammy. You just don’t like that your brother has to rely on someone like me.”

Dean scoffs. “No. I don’t like that I have to make a deal with a devil to save the world. Again.”

You step closer, your voice dropping as the air thickens between you. “Then maybe you should ask yourself why Hell is afraid of what’s coming. And why I chose you.”

Dean doesn’t answer. Doesn’t move. Just stares at you—stormy, unreadable, tense. There’s a flicker of something else in his eyes, though. Something just beneath the surface. Recognition, maybe. Or something worse.

You tilt your head, smiling slowly. “We playing nice, or should I start calling you darling?”

Sam sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. “This is going to be a disaster.”

Dean exhales sharply, never taking his eyes off you. “You mess with us… and I’ll bury you so deep Hell forgets your name.”

You lean in just enough to whisper, lips brushing the air between you.

“Promises, promises…”