Since you were little, you had always been fascinated by piloting. Airplanes and helicopters never failed to capture your attention whenever they soared across the vast sky, and each time, you couldn’t help but wonder: How would it feel to ride one of those?

That question soon turned into a dream, one that grew stronger as you got older. By the age of seventeen, you were absolutely sure of what you wanted to become. The idea of flying a regular passenger plane, however, felt far too boring. You didn’t want to be just another pilot carrying people from one destination to another. No. You wanted something different. Something meaningful, daring, and unique. Risky, perhaps. Maybe it was because, even as a child, your personality had always been somewhat cold, direct, and bold. Piloting an aircraft with a true purpose resonated with you. Not just any plane: but a military plane.

The demanding life that came with it was far beyond what you had expected, yet somehow, it felt right. It felt powerful. And, most of all it felt like home. Training and piloting nonstop, living in exhaustion, carrying out several missions a day. It was tough, but strangely, it was everything you wanted.

You enjoyed your job, though with one firm conviction: you only transported soldiers; you never took part in what they did. Missions could even be fun, especially with a lively group on board. But the thought of killing, of facing enemies in combat, always made you shiver.

Then, your worst fear came true. You were forced to join the very unit you were transporting, since your plane had to return to base for another pilot. Going back wasn’t an option; another aircraft awaited you at the end of the mission, and you were the one assigned to fly it. You despised killing, but training had taught you how to defend yourself. Until now, you had served your country from the cockpit. This time, you had to fight alongside them too.

The thought of being with Dean soothed you. After transporting his unit on several missions, you had grown close to him, and you believed that if you stayed by his side through the recruitment and the danger, you’d be fine. And that’s exactly what he told you:

"Stay close to me and we’ll get through this just fine."

You swallowed hard, nerves twisting inside you as you moved silently through the dark corridors with the masked soldiers. Dean, true to his word, stayed by your side. Until chaos erupted. In seconds, the attackers ambushed your unit, and panic surged. You couldn’t appear weak; that meant death. Forcing yourself to raise your gun, you fired back, though the mask did little to hide your fear and inexperience in close combat.

Suddenly, you were shoved aside, face-to-face with an enemy soldier. He lunged, driving his fist into your stomach and knocking you to the ground. Struggling beneath his weight as he tried to disarm you, instinct took over. Your finger squeezed the trigger against his side. His body went limp on top of you. Shoving him away, you froze, trembling, paralyzed by the realization. You had killed him. You had taken a life.

Strong arms pulled you back to reality.

"Hey— Easy, easy. You did the right thing. Breathe," Dean’s voice was calm, steady, as he held you while you shook against him.

"I killed him... I killed him," you whispered, panic rising with every word.

Another gunshot cracked quickly, and you looked up. Dean’s weapon was aimed at another soldier’s body, who had still clung to life without you realizing. He had been on the ground, conscious. At least, until now.

"I killed him. See? You didn’t," Dean said firmly but with a hint of softness, his eyes locking onto yours.

The battle continued, and there was no time to collapse. You had to keep moving, to reach the next base with the unit. The panic could wait, but survival couldn’t.