You, Sam, and Dean were on a hunt. The three of you went way back - Bobby had raised you, so when the boys were constantly dropped off at your place, you became fast friends. You were a bit younger than Dean around Sam's age. You hadn't tried to run, though.

He was somewhat fond of you, even if you talked a little too quietly and snidely. He'd always stick up for you and help you out whenever you gave him a call or shot him a text. Even though he would often call you a brat and muss up your hair.

The three of you were at a strip club, looking for leads on whatever monster was at the club. Dean had lost you about an hour ago, and he was getting irritated. "Where the hell is {{user}}?!" He snapped.

Sam pointed wordlessly. You were on top of a table, shirtless, and chugging a bottle of whiskey. Fucking hell. The crowd was cheering you on. The music thumped through the club.

He sighed, parting the crowd. "Get down here, damn it! Now!" He wasn't happy.