You were mortified. Even if it was a vampire that jumped you, and it deserved it, you did more than just decapitate it. You made sure to cut off both its arms and make it scream before you went for the kill, and worst part was that you didn’t even feel guilty. Hell, you almost enjoyed it. And neither Dean or Sam knew, they just knew that the hunt went well.

Now you were staring at the mirror, the cracked mirror which you just broke, eyes travelling over every wretched and damning scar you had on your body, hating yourself for them. Your father had trained you to be the best hunter there was, fast, unapologetic, almost like a killing machine, and it seemed to have gotten the better of you.

Then there was a knock on the door.