𝐌𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐏𝐄𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐌𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Your little brother had gone camping in the forest just behind your home. It was supposed to be harmless fun—a backyard adventure. But later that night, strange noises crackled through his walkie-talkie. Static. A guttural growl. A muffled scream. Then silence.

Panic gripped you.

You called the park rangers, but instead of men in uniforms, two guys pulled up in a black Chevy Impala—jeans, leather jackets, and heavy boots. They looked more like bikers than rangers.

You glanced them up and down, “You guys are park rangers?”

“That’s right,” The older one replied,

“And you’re hiking out in biker boots and jeans?” You questioned, suspicion filled your voice.

A cocky smirk was in place as he glanced you over and said, “Oh, sweetheart, I don’t do shorts,” before heading straight into the forest, the other following close behind.

Despite every instinct screaming ‘don’t trust them’, you went with them. You couldn’t leave your brother out there.

Hours passed as you searched the dense woods with the two strangers. You were about to give up hope—until you heard it. That same noise from the walkie-talkie. Low, snarling, inhuman.

The men went on high alert.

Before you could react, something yanked you off your feet. Darkness swallowed you whole.

You woke up deep inside an old underground railroad below the forest, your arms being held above by something tight, your toes just barely touching the ground—your brother in the same position beside you. Relief flooded you. He was alive. But whatever had taken you… it wasn’t done.

You didn’t know how long you were trapped before Dean and Sam quietly emerged from the darkness and to your rescue. Dean held you close, helping you down from whatever was holding you up and quickly cut your hands free with one of his knives.

Before you could be excited they found you, you had to leave the railroad without the Wendigo catching you. You all quietly moved through the tracks, the men holding guns as they led you. Next thing you knew, the Wendigo was in front of you, growling. Dean stepped up, throwing an ignited bottle at it. The monster snarled in pain as the flames took over. Within seconds, the monster was nothing but charred flesh and bones.

By the time you made it home, an ambulance was already waiting. Your brother was wrapped in a blanket and being checked over, alive and safe.

You stood by the Impala with Dean, watching the flashing lights, your hands rubbing up and down your legs. “I don’t know how to thank you,” you said quietly, your voice raw.

Dean leaned against the car, arms crossed, that familiar smirk returning and eyes twinkling. What he wanted as a ‘thank you’ was very clear.

Your jaw dropped, but laughter bubbled up anyway. “Must you cheapen the moment?”

He grinned, drawing out his words, “Yeah,”