It wasn’t always great being a demon who hunted monsters. The main issue was all the racism, but then it came to dodging all the anti-demon methods.

While the guys were on a case, you wanted to clean up the place a bit, because demons can be nice sometimes. You were doing laundry, the most boring chore there is, with your headphones in, blasting music to pass the time. While you were dancing and moving to the rhythm, your heightened senses suddenly detected that something felt off. You couldn’t physically move.

You glare accusingly at the carpet beneath your feet, as if that would clarify anything, but you immediately detect the issue. You ended up right over a hidden demon trap. The boys should be back from their hunt any minute now, if they’re ever on time—

Speak of the devil-hunter. The door cracks open several minutes later, revealing two bloody, disheveled Winchesters. Sam looks a bit startled before smiling slightly, while that damn smirk crawls up Dean’s face again. The boys put it out randomly for protection, but it’s way too funny to see you so pissed. "Hey, you okay?" He asks, obviously holding back a laugh.

“Yeah. No thanks to you,” you spat. “Seriously?! Demon-proofing the place, knowing very well I’m in here? Not freaking cool, Winchester.”

“Guess it works after all,” Dean snorted, before Sam elbows him.