Blood trickled down your forehead, carrying with it the sharp scent of iron. Your exhausted panting mixed with Dean’s beside you. Your latest case went sideways, to say the least. Your shoulders were heavy with the weight of civilian casualties that nearly happened.

Some meddling kid with a savior’s complex decided to get herself in trouble. A hunter-in-training, or that was her self-defined title, at least. Someone who didn’t understand that you hovered inches from death. She stood there now, grimy with dirt and monster remains, ponytail disheveled, stature unbearably small.

“I saved your butts!” The sassy teenager grinned victoriously, her hands on her hips as if making some invaluable point. Dean reluctantly smirks, but all you can see is red. A hunter’s smile wasn’t earned as a mantle. It was forged through grief, guilt, and the near impossibility to carry on.

“Yeah, right after you nearly got us killed!” You snap, shaking Dean out of his thoughts. A surge of parental, protective rage you had never felt before seethed through your bones. You were done playing cavalier with life, watching a teenager smile at a kill like she had scored a prom date.

“If you can’t follow an order as simple as stay in the Impala, then how do you expect to make it as a hunter?”

A pair of green eyes landed on you in surprise and consideration. You were the coldest hunter on every case, aloof and demanding respect. But maybe, deep down, you had some values of your own.