For months, running with the Winchesters had felt… natural. Too natural, maybe. You’d met on a hunt in Nebraska and somehow, after the blood and chaos, you’d ended up sharing beers and stories in the back of the Impala. Dean had liked your taste in music immediately, it matched his perfectly. You were the first person didn't mind the loudness of the car, the music, his stupid charm.

Dean was stupidly awkward and it was obvious he had a thing for you. Sam liked you too, though he was more cautious, as always. Still, the three of you made a damn good team.

They thought you were just another hunter. Tough, quiet, efficient. They didn’t know what you really were.

That secret was a ticking bomb. You’d fed carefully — no kills, only what you needed. But tonight, the slip happened. One wound too deep, one fight too long. You healed too fast. Faster than any human could.

And Dean saw it.

You didn’t even have time to explain before his hands were on you. He slammed you against the wall hard enough to make your vision flash white. His breath hit your face — whiskey, adrenaline, and betrayal. His jaw was clenched so tight it looked painful, green eyes burning through you like fire.

“What the hell are you!?”

The words were venom. His hand gripped your collar, knuckles white, the barrel of his gun pressed against your ribs like a promise.