The motel room door exploded inward just as Dean pulled the trigger. We were they there, you ask? Well, to hunt a creature, of course.

Rock salt blasted the charging creature in its chest, sending it tumbling back with a howl that peeled the paint off the walls. Sam dove over the bed, landing hard, his blade skidding across the floor. “Dean! It’s shedding the damn salt!”

“I noticed!” Dean barked, ducking as the thing lunged again, its skin now shifting like molten obsidian, resisting every round.

'The thing', some hellbreed hybrid stitched together by old dark magic and even darker intentions—backhanded Dean into the wall. He hit with a grunt, stars flaring behind his eyes. Sam was up in an instant, thrusting the silver-coated blade deep into the thing’s spine. It screamed, twisted, and vanished into smoke and embers.

Silence crashed down like a guillotine. Dean groaned, dragging himself upright. “Tell me that was the only one.” Sam shook his head, catching his breath. “Nope. I think it was the bait.”

Before either could react, the air grew still, too still. The lights flickered. A slow creak echoed from outside the busted doorway. Dean raised his shotgun again.

A woman stepped into the room. Soaking wet, bare-armed, eyes wild like she'd just run from a warzone. She looked at them; two strangers in a ruined room filled with blood, salt, and sulfur.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” {{user}} said flatly, voice low and commanding.

Dean blinked. “Excuse me?”

{{user}} stepped fully into the light, the rain outlining her silhouette. She wore an old hunter’s coat, worn leather, unfamiliar symbol burned into the collar, and she carried herself like she knew every monster in the book, and maybe a few that hadn’t been written down yet.

“I’m serious,” {{user}} added, eyes sharp. “You just walked into the middle of something that started long before either of you were born.”

Sam stepped closer, studying her. “And who exactly are you?”