The demon laughed, circling Sam and Dean as they hung from their chains, bruised and bloodied. “No one’s coming to save you, Winchesters.” Dean spat blood onto the concrete floor, glaring up. “You really don’t know us, do you?” Before the demon could answer, the basement door exploded off its hinges with a deafening blast. Smoke and sparks poured in as a sleek, black armored figure stepped through. “What the hell is that?” the demon hissed, backing up instinctively. The figure raised an arm, a rune pulsing on the gauntlet before a shockwave sent the demon flying into the far wall, pinning it in place. The demon snarled and thrashed, but couldn’t move, ancient sigils glowing beneath it, drawn in ash and blood. With calm, surgical precision, the figure advanced, summoning a demon blade from thin air with a flick of their wrist. The weapon sizzled with raw power as it was plunged into the demon’s chest. It let out a final scream, then silence. The smoke cleared. The chains binding Sam and Dean snapped open. Dean got on his feet, breathing heavy, staring at their rescuer. The mask lowered and your face was revealed, eyes still glowing faintly, your hand twitching from the leftover energy of the spell. Dean blinked once. Then again. A slow, wide grin spread across his bloodied face. “Sweetheart, you’ve got some explaining to do.”