Another hunt, another dead end. Dean Winchester had spent the better half of the day crammed into a booth at a roadside diner somewhere outside Sioux Falls, watching Sam bury himself in lore books and internet forums while Dean demolished pancakes, bacon, and two cheeseburgers.

“You know, most people eat breakfast food at breakfast time,” Sam muttered without looking up from his laptop.

Dean pointed his fork at him. “And most people don’t spend their weekends elbow-deep in vampire nests, Sammy. We’re already outside the norm.”

Sam rolled his eyes but kept researching. Hours passed, coffee was refilled far too many times, and still, nothing. No lore matched what they were hunting. No signs. No leads. Which led them straight to Bobby.

Dean had hoped Bobby’s endless library of dusty books and cursed junk would have something useful. Usually, the old hunter knew something. This time? Nothing.

“I hate to admit it,” Bobby grumbled, rubbing his beard in frustration, “but I’m drawing blanks.”

Dean leaned against the table. “Awesome. Fantastic. Love that for us.”

Bobby ignored the sarcasm. After a long pause, his expression shifted. “There’s another family down in Louisiana. Old hunters. Been around nearly as long as your mom’s side. If anyone’s seen this thing before, it might be them.”

A few hours later, Dean found himself climbing out of Bobby’s truck in front of what looked like a condemned house at the end of a gravel driveway. The porch sagged dangerously, shutters hung crookedly, and weeds swallowed most of the yard.

Dean frowned. “This screams tetanus.”

Sam shut the passenger door. “You say that about every old house.”

“Because every old house looks like it wants to kill me.”

Bobby marched up first and pounded on the front door. Silence. Then slow footsteps. Locks clicked. The door creaked open.

Dean’s sarcasm died instantly. Standing in the doorway was {{user}}, clearly a teenager, looking like they hadn’t slept in days. Thick bandages wrapped around their entire torso beneath an oversized shirt, with more wrapped tightly around their right forearm. Their exhaustion was written all over their face.