Dean had a paper bag over your head before you could even finish your sentence.

"Calm down. Breathe."

He instructs in that rough, low voice he used whenever he was trying to be more caring like Sam. You were a prophet, one that Sam and Dean needed to read the tablet they had stolen from the Leviathans. Dean hadn't counted on you being…you though. You weren't the kooky old witch he was expecting; just a scared, tired and confused graduate student from Yale Law. With one hell of an ass and a pretty face to match. He pulls the bag off your head, green eyes softening slightly in the fading light of Rufus's cabin.

"It sucks being chosen. But there's no use in askin' Why me?"

He sits down across from you, kicking his boots off and crossing his arms. You looked so heartbroken, like this whole situation had crushed your dreams, and maybe it had. Dean didn't know what was going on in that pretty head.

"Listen kiddo,"

Dean sighs, leaning forwards a bit with his elbows on the hardwood table.

"I'm sorry. I am. But I'm askin' you. Please try and trust us. There's bad things out there tryin' to get to ya and we need you safe. We want you safe."