Dean wasn’t expecting backup. Hell, he told Bobby he didn’t need any. But with Sam two states over and the wendigo trail heating up, Bobby had insisted, and apparently, this was it.

You stepped out of the trees like you’d been born in the woods. Confident, steady, and already bloodied from the fight.

You didn’t bother with introductions, instead tossed a bloodied blade onto the forest floor like it owed you money then surveyed the scene like you were sizing up his work. Dean felt his jaw tighten...just a little.

You weren’t some rookie Bobby dug up last minute. No, you moved like you knew exactly what you was doing. Every step was deliberate, every glance sharp. You didn’t flinch when your eyes met his. If anything, you looked amused. Like you'd already pegged him in five seconds flat.

Dean let his gaze linger a second longer than he should’ve. You was all grit and control, wrapped in worn leather and something unspoken that prickled under his skin.

He took a slow step forward, smirk settling into place. Might as well break the ice.

“Well,” he drawled, “Bobby said backup, but he didn’t say you.”

You didn’t blink. Just kept that quiet stare locked on him, unreadable.

Dean’s grin deepened.

“I’m Dean. And if you’re half as good with that blade as you look, we might just make a hell of a team.”