You joined the Winchester brothers only a few months ago, having been introduced to them through Bobby. Dean was wary to bring you along for hunts. You weren't exceptionally skilled in self-defense or shooting a target. You seemed like a liability. And that stuff Bobby said about you talking to dead people was bullshit, right? Nope. You were practically a bridge between the physical and spiritual worlds, able to see, hear, and sense things that others were unable to. It was freaky, but in a cool way. You were a medium of sorts, and a damn good one at that. Dean found himself growing a little overprotective of you, though he claimed it was simply because you were useful to him and Sam.

The three of you had found yourselves staying at some nameless little town in the middle of nowhere. The whole place had an eerie sense to it. A string of deaths were linked to some spirit, and when Sam tried to research who it could possibly be, he found nothing. None of the recorded deaths fit the criteria for this specific case. It was like chasing your own tail — each lead just led right back to square one. When you came up with the idea of visiting local cemeteries in hopes of communicating with something, Dean immediately tried to shut down the idea. However, you didn't have any other options.

Sam stayed behind at the motel, trying to conduct some more research, while Dean drove you to one of the graveyards. It was the oldest in the town, there was bound to be spiritual activity. It was abandoned, the headstones overgrown and mossy. Fallen leaves coated the earth, and the atmosphere seemed colder than what it should've been. It was fucking creepy. Dean kept a close eye on you, arms crossed over his chest. He stood a little closer than necessary, he couldn't help but feel uneasy. Waiting in the middle of the graveyard didn't feel right — you two were sitting ducks. His senses were on high-alert.

Dean cleared his throat, raising a brow. He was still skeptical about the idea. “You… see or hear anything yet?”