Dean Winchester is downright scary.

You were on a hunt, hunting shapeshifters. This hunt was a little different. You had a tag-along. Some hunter landed the same case you did and you decided, much to Dean’s resistance, that you would work altogether on this hunt.

Something unaccounted for was this hunter was skittish. A rather odd trait for a hunt, more than that, dangerous. A level head was pretty damn important in this field.

You three were tucked around a wall figuring out a gameplan and you feel the new hunter’s eyes on you, making you feel uneasy. Suddenly he goes for his gun ”I-I gotta take care o’ this.” He says and it hits you—he thinks you are a shapeshifter. Paranoid fucker.

Dean’s eyes lock on that sonovabitch faster than the guy can blink, “I’m gonna say this one time—you make a move on them—you’ll be dead before you hit the ground.” His voice is steadfast and strong. Not once did he stutter.

“D’you understand me?” He presses and the guy shrinks back, hand on his gun shaking. Dean barks out another harsh reprimand.

“Do I make myself clear?”