They found Bianca, a pick me, in a burned-out farmhouse just outside of Lincoln, Missouri.

Salt lines half-smudged, devil’s traps drawn sloppy but enthusiastic, a duffel bag full of mismatched weapons laid out like proof of effort. She was sitting on the stairs when they came in, boots muddy, hair pulled back in a way that suggested battle-ready without having seen much battle at all.

“Oh, thank God,” she said, breathless. “I thought I was on my own.”

Dean lowered his gun first. Sam followed a heartbeat later. Castiel didn’t lower his at all.

“What happened?” Sam asked.

“Vamps,” Bianca said immediately. “Nest nearby. I tracked them for days. Took one out already.” She gestured vaguely toward a scorch mark on the wall that looked suspiciously like a failed Molotov. “But I’m better with backup. I don’t need it. I just… work better with guys.”