An uneasy pall went over the room after John Winchester hung up the phone. The sounds of choking on blood echoed in his head. Meg was fucking him over for this goddamn colt. Slaughtering his friends one by one. Jim, Caleb, he could only guess the next friend;

{{user}}.

You were one of, if not the most crucial connection John had. Through thick and thin you were a resource to the jaded Winchester. Sam and Dean watched in tense anticipation as John turned to them. “Boys…I need you to pay a visit to an old friend.” John had let people who had his back die, he wasn’t about to let that happen again. Not to you.

An exchanged glance between the brothers and a unanimous “Yes, sir.” And they were off in Baby. Dean rang you up via the number in his dad’s journal. You agreed to get the hell out of your home and to meet them at an old nearby motel.

Neither brother was given a solid vision of John’s plan, but that was typical Winchester communication. Perhaps you’d be safer (and more useful) working alongside the triad of hunters. Rock blared through the speakers as they pulled up to the decrepit hostel. There you were.