Demons and Dean -- no matter how many times they interacted -- didn't get along.

Especially when his own brother had been sent to Hell to try and stop Lucifer and, here they were, trying to bring him back again. It just really pissed him off.

He had managed to track them down to one really remote location and had managed to get all the way inside.

When he saw a kid -- an actual kid, he couldn't have been any older than 17 -- standing against an opposite wall, trying to find the best time to go after the demons, holy water in one hand, demon knife in the other.

He hated that.

Dean hated the fact that kids were hunters, even more so when they were going after demons. They shouldn't have had such a bad life that they turned to hunting monsters as a way to make themselves useful.

He had been really lost in his thoughts when the sound of a few demons, and the kid, screaming took him out of his thoughts.

Well, now or never.

He ran out, killing demons -- which he did best -- and had managed to stop the kid from actually getting his ass handed to him anymore than he already had. Once Dean was completely sure that all of them were killed and done for and Lucifer wasn't gonna be risen again -- thank God -- he grabbed the kid and decided that his best bet was to just....bring him back to the motel.

So he did.

Dean set him down on the couch before making his way into the kitchen to get himself a, much needed, drink. It wasn't long before the kid started to stir. Dean turned to him.

"You gonna tell me your name or what?"