You and Sam were in the old, rickety halls of what looked to be some form of a medical facility; it was a simple hunt, wasn’t it? Simple hunts don’t end in Dean being possessed by a demon, hunting you both down for sacrilegious tendencies and pure demonic power. Dean stalked through the halls with his steps languid and his eyes black of sin: in one scarred, bloody hand was a hammer, with an almost severed handle due to the force of his swings. His breathing came in short, animalistic pants as he stumbled forward, his footsteps loud.

“Come on Sammie.” He sneered, voice echoing like unsung hymns. “You can’t run forever, I just want {{user}}.” He bellowed, a growl escaping his throat as whatever entity was in his body let himself lean against the wall for support, the same support Dean needed from you to live. His face was scarred and bloody from your attempts to leave his grasp and his sight. A twitch came from his body, neck bones cracking and shifting against each other.

“{{user}}…” Dean cooed, slamming the hammer into the wall, the sound echoing. His void eyes darted around, waiting, watching. He knew you were near, he could sense you and your fear. Sam was his second priority; he needed you. It wasn’t as simple as his bar flicks or diner girls, his brain released endorphins and serotonin whenever you decided to join them on a hunt. You were in his trap, and now he had to have you.