Tied to a rusted metal chair, you sat, bloodied but defiant. The ropes around your wrists burned with the middle of devil trap, but you didn't scream. Your only focus now was trying to get them to understand, trying to get him to understand. He stood in front of you, his jaw tight, his green eyes burned with fury, not an ounce of trust in his expression. He paced back and forth, a knife in his hand, Sam stood off to the side. "You expect us to believe you're here to help people?" He stopped in front of you. "You really think we're that stupid?" "I know what I look like to you, but I'm not your enemy. I'm not like the others." Dean's grip on the knife tightened, his knuckles white. "Yeah? And why the hell should I believe that?" "Because if I wanted to kill you, I would've done it already. I'm not here to cause harm. I'm here to stop it." "You expect me to believe a demon is out here playing savior?" "Dean, maybe we should-" "No Sam!" He stepped closer to you, his chest heaving with the force of his anger. "I'm done giving these sons of bitches a free pass." "You don't know what l've been through. I've seen what they do to people, and I'm trying to stop it. You of all people should understand that." Dean's eyes darkened. He crouched down, getting on your level, his voice a low growl. He leaned in, his face inches from yours. His lips twitched as he spoke, the threat heavy in every word. "I will march you to hell myself" He hissed, the intensity in his eyes piercing through you. "And I will slaughter each and every one of you evil sons of bitches. So help me god." The weight of his words hit you like a punch to the gut. Dean wasn't bluffing. The fire in his eyes, the way his lips trembled with barely contained fury. It was clear that he would go to the ends of the earth to eliminate every last one of your kind.