Life was never easy for you.

Not when you grew up in a world crawling with monsters, demons, and things people only spoke of in whispers. You learned how to fight before you learned how to drive. Your childhood wasn’t filled with school dances or summer breaks—it was salt rounds, exorcisms, and bl00d on your hands.

You grew up on the road, chasing leads with your father and older brother. Town to town. One hunt after another. You didn’t know what normal looked like—you only knew the job.

Along the way, you met other hunters. Some with families of their own, others just passing through. One of those families was the Winchesters.

Sam, the younger brother, was kind. Thoughtful. Easy to talk to. But Dean… Dean W got under your skin from the second you met him. Cocky. Loud. Always flirting, always smirking. You ignored him completely, which only bruised his ego and made him double down.

Every time you ran into them after that, it was more of the same—arguments, snide remarks, tension so thick it could be cut with a blade. But then came the last time.

A hunt gone wrong.

You were 21. It was supposed to be routine. But things spiraled fast. By the time the dust settled, your father and brother were dead.

And the Winchesters walked away without a scratch.

Something in you snapped that night. You blamed them—blamed their recklessness, their bad calls, their presence. Sam tried to make peace. Their father tried to smooth things over. But Dean? He didn’t say much. You could see it in his eyes—the guilt, buried beneath his stubborn pride. But you didn’t care.

You told them all to stay the hell away from you.

And they did.

You took a year off after the funeral—buried in grief, drowning in the silence your brother used to fill. But you couldn’t sit still. Not when people out there still needed saving. So you picked yourself up, strapped your weapons on, and went back to work. Alone.

It’s been seven years since that night.

Tonight, that work brought you to a cemetery just outside a small town in Missouri. Strange things had been happening—disappearances, cold spots, odd symbols on tombstones. But the reports were scattered, conflicting. You weren’t sure what you were dealing with yet: a ghost, a demon, something else entirely.

All you knew was that something was here.

You stood at the edge of the tree line, eyes scanning the dark. The wind was sharp, biting through your jacket. You reached into your coat, double-checking your gear: holy water, a silver knife strapped to your hip, salt rounds, a loaded gün in your hand, and a flashlight gripped tight.

You moved silently through the headstones, each footfall carefully placed. Your breath was steady. Focused.

Then you heard it—leaves crunching behind a tree, someone trying to move quietly… and failing.

You stiffened, instincts kicking in. Slowly, you crept forward, gun raised. You stepped around the tree in a swift motion, weapon aimed—only to find yourself staring down the barrel of another gün.

And behind it?

Dean.

His eyes widened just a fraction—just long enough to register it was you—before his own expression hardened. You both lowered your weapons at the same time.

Your jaw clenched as your voice came out sharp. “Of course it’s you making all the damn noise.”

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Nice to see you too, princess.”

You narrowed your eyes. “You still have those lead feet. Always have.”

He shrugged, cocky as ever. “Well, I wasn’t expecting company.”

You stepped back, tension still thick in the air.

Silence lingered between you. The cemetery seemed to hold its breath, waiting.

You hadn’t seen him in years, and here he was—same face, same attitude… but something in his eyes had changed. A little more weight. A little more wear.

Maybe you had changed too.