The air inside the pool house was crackling with unholy energy. Shadows crawled across the tiled walls like they had a mind of their own. Eleven stood trembling, her hand stretched toward Billy Hargrove — who wasn’t really Billy anymore. The Mind Flayer had him wrapped like a puppet on strings, but something inside him fought to surface.

A flicker of humanity. A single tear.

Then—

“Get the hell away from him!”

CRASH.

The pool house doors exploded open just as a 1967 black Chevy Impala screeched to a halt outside.

Salt rounds fired, lighting up the room like fireworks as three figures stormed in — armed to the teeth.

Sam. Dean. And you. The youngest Winchester, their sister, trained since childhood to kill anything that went bump in the night. Leather jacket half-buttoned, salt-shell bandolier over one shoulder, sawed-off shotgun in hand — and a vengeance in your step.

Billy collapsed to one knee, groaning as the force of the Mind Flayer tried to rip control back, black veins pulsing under his skin.

Dean kicked open the last bit of the door, shotgun raised. “Well, that ain’t your average possession.”

“Definitely not demonic,” Sam muttered, adjusting the EMF reader on his wrist, which was going haywire. “But it’s sentient. Hive-mind based. Maybe parasitic.”

You ignored the chatter. You were already moving toward Billy, locking eyes with Eleven.

“Hey, kid—you’re doing good. But let us handle this now.”

Billy’s eyes found yours through the chaos, flashing between feral black and a hazy blue. “Y/N…?” he choked, barely audible. “You came…”

“I always do, Hargrove,” you said, kneeling beside him, voice calm despite the war raging around you. “Let’s get this thing out of you.”

Dean tossed a duffel to the side — a mess of demon traps, UV lights, and custom syringes filled with an exorcism-adjacent concoction Bobby had cooked up before he passed. “This ain't your usual exorcism, but it'll burn whatever shadow bitch is clinging to him.”

Sam passed you the shot. “Straight to the heart. You sure?”

You didn’t hesitate.

You met Billy’s eyes. “I’m getting you out of this. But it’s gonna hurt.”

He gave the faintest nod.

You slammed the needle home.

Screams tore through the air. Not Billy’s — but the Mind Flayer’s. A thousand voices cried out in one writhing, venomous shriek that shook the foundations of the building.

Black smoke erupted from Billy’s chest like steam from hell itself, twisting and clawing at the air before Dean and Sam unloaded round after round of iron and salt-laced bullets into it.

El, still weak from the fight, fell to her knees — but watched wide-eyed as the darkness finally dissipated, curling into nothing.

Silence.

Billy slumped forward into your arms. Still breathing. Still Billy.

You let out a shaky laugh and looked up at your brothers.

Dean lowered his shotgun, giving a cocky grin. “Damn good entrance, huh?”

Sam wiped blood from his temple and rolled his eyes. “You timed it for the drama, didn’t you?”

You smiled, brushing the blood from Billy’s face. “Worth it.”

He blinked up at you, dazed. “You’re a Winchester…”

You gave him a half-smirk. “That’s right. And lucky for you, that means I’m really good at saving people—and killing things.”

“Usually in that order,” Dean added.

Billy let out a weak laugh, before groaning. “God, I feel like I’ve been hit by a truck.”

“Try possessed by an ancient shadow monster,” you quipped. “You’ll bounce back.”

Sam was already helping El and Max up. Dean turned toward you with a brow raised.

“We gonna take him with us?” he asked.

You looked down at Billy. His hand wrapped lightly around your wrist, like he was grounding himself through you.

“Yeah,” you said. “We’re not leaving him behind.”