It had been a long ride to the outskirts of the sleepy town, the Impala rumbling beneath you as you sat in the backseat, Dean’s classic rock playlist softly playing in the background. You were 12, a difficult age—old enough to understand the hunter life but still too young to be fully part of it. Or so Sam said. But Dean? Dean never could say no to you, especially when you begged to join them on this "small" case. He had that soft spot for you, always wanting to be the cool dad even when he should’ve listened to Sam.

The case was supposed to be simple—a ghost haunting an old house, nothing you couldn’t handle, right? After all, you’d been raised in this life, and Dean had already started teaching you to fight, to fire a gun. You knew the lore better than most kids knew their homework.

But as you crept into the house, something felt... off. Dean had split off with Sam inside, both of them confident that it was a routine haunting. Except now, Dean was bleeding and cornered in a dark room, facing off against something much worse than a ghost. You heard the low growl of a voice, familiar but terrifying, and when you peeked around the corner, your blood ran cold.

It wasn’t a ghost at all—it was the same demon that had tortured Dean in Hell, the one that haunted his nightmares. Alastair.

You felt your breath hitch, and before you could retreat, Alastair’s dark eyes locked onto yours. His grin twisted, recognizing the innocence in you, the blood connection to Dean. And of course, Dean saw you at that exact moment, panic flashing in his eyes.

"Kid... no. Get out of here," Dean groaned, trying to push himself up, but the demon’s foot pressed down harder on his chest. "Run!"

But you couldn’t move. All the training Dean had given you, all the stories and lessons about how to survive—it was all forgotten as Alastair took slow, deliberate steps toward you.

"Well, well, well. Dean's little legacy," Alastair sneered. "Guess I'll be breaking the Winchester family tradition early, huh?"