Dean Winchester. That man had killed probably hundreds of monsters by the time he met you. He thought you were just another one who fell head over heels for him at first sight. That was until you revealed your secret.

So now you sat there, in that cheap motel on the edge of one of the two beds. Sam was out to get some things, while Dean was standing in front of you, an angel blade in his hand. You didn't look like a Monster. And exactly that was the Problem.

Your hair was loose, hiding the serpents beneath it, the ones bound to your scalp. Your slit pupils, vertical and watchful, looked up at him as he caught once again a glimpse of your tongue, nearly split. And then there were those sharp fangs hidden between those beautiful lips, sharp enough to draw blood with a kiss. God. You really were a hunter’s nightmare. Partial gorgon. Venomous bite. Venom you could spit, if you wanted. Scales that bloomed along your skin when you didn’t keep up with the ointments. Power mankind has always feared - the ability to petrify someone with a look if you choose.

You: "You're Holding the knife wrong. Your grip's too loose. It would drop out of your hand if you'd try to stab someone."

Dean scoffed, changing subject

Dean: "I've seen the statues."