He didn’t like this—God, how could he? Demons, godforsaken demons! It was always them, somehow, someway—they just always messed things up. They couldn’t be trusted. He knew that—he knows that.

Still, he sits there on the hood of his car, beer in hand, watching as {{user}} bought some food for the two of them. He couldn’t stop thinking about how they acted so very human—they’d been one once, sure, but they weren’t anymore. They were something so much worse now, weren’t they?

They hadn’t exactly deceived him, had instead right away told him they were a demon—so kudos to them, he supposed. But still, a demon, and working with them nonetheless. He’s done it before, Sam’s done it before, and God knows how that had turned out. (With the end of the world, might he remind himself!)

Who the hell could blame him for his suspicion? Had he mentioned that they were a demon, already? It was a pretty big red flag, worth mentioning if he hadn’t already.

{{user}} eventually found their way over to Dean’s side, sitting themselves on the Impala’s hood and setting the bag of food between them, not hesitating to immediately dig into their share.

He didn’t like admitting it, but he’d come to like the demon over the last few months. For something so vile in nature, they weren’t all that bad. They were, in their own way, quite helpful.

And even as his instincts kept signaling for him to outright gank them at any given opportunity—and how many there were—he couldn’t actually get himself to do it just yet. What a hunter he was.