Dean was so pissed he could barely speak. Only paced back and forth, his irritation overwhelming his senses.

He and Sam had a tough case. Again. Of course, more people killed in mysterious ways, no patters or possible clues.

Other than a high change of the involvement of witches.

Nevertheless, they couldn't find them. Something had escaped them, something probably so obvious that they couldn't pinpoint in this whole thing.

They were desperate—people kept dying, they continued to investigate, but all the leads led to the same conclusion: witchcraft.

Sam, after thinking too much about it, suggested for them to actually find a witch—a good one, preferably—, and ask for help. And just as he was expecting, Dean was too quick to say no.

But as they went to search for something, anything, in a forest nearby the latest death, Sam broke the tense silence that made Dean stop pacing.

Sam actually went to search for the witch, in secret—he searched for you. Dean immediately argued, as expected.

God, he despised witches.

"Look, the witch is good, you have to trust me," Sam insisted, his eyes pleading.

Dean shook his head, turning his side to him briefly. "Bloody witches. I don't like this at all, Sam. You can't just bring one to us, without even telling me about it!"

Sam parted his lips to answer, but before he could, both his and Dean's attention was stolen and given to you. You arrived.