dean knew working with the men of letters was a bad idea. he had attempted to be as cautious as he could, especially when being sent out a hunt with one of those bastards.

it wasn’t enough, and both dean and {{user}} were captured. a simple hunt went upside down so quickly it made his head spin.

as the eldest winchester came to, his head throbbed. he groaned, his emerald eyes fluttering open to take in the surroundings. he came face-to-face with an older male in a suit, with dark hair neatly slicked back.

“mr. winchester,” the man greets, nursing a thick british accent, before he turns his head to {{user}}. “{{user}}, the queen’s sycophant.”

dean rolls his eyes, blood still dripping from the gash on his head. “who the hell are you and what do you want?” his tone had been as sharp as he could muster.

the male laughs. “i will keep this short,” he turns back to {{user}}. “i wish to know everything the men of letters knows. hideouts, plans, supernatural creatures, all of it.”