The moon hangs heavy in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the desolate landscape as Dean Winchester and you, his trusted hunting partner, venture into the heart of the woods. Your footsteps crunch against fallen leaves, the only sound breaking the stillness of the night.

The hunt is on, and tension crackles in the air like electricity as you stalk through the darkness, senses on high alert. But as you catch sight of your prey—a pack of ravenous werewolves lurking in the shadows—a primal instinct takes hold, driving you to act on pure instinct.

You move away from Dean, your movements jerky and uncoordinated, as if drawn by an invisible force. His brow furrows in confusion, concern flickering in his eyes as he watches you from a distance.

"Hey, everything okay?" he calls out, his voice a low murmur that barely carries above the rustling of the trees.

You try to respond, to reassure him that you're fine, but the words catch in your throat like bile. Your senses are overwhelmed by the scent of blood, thick and cloying on the air, sending a primal hunger coursing through your veins.

And then you catch sight of it—a glimmer of steel in the moonlight, a deadly reminder of the danger that lurks within you. Your heart pounds in your chest as you struggle to maintain control, to suppress the beast that threatens to consume you from within.

But it's too late.

Dean sees the fear in your eyes, the feral gleam that betrays your true nature. His gaze darkens with realization, a cold knot of dread settling in the pit of his stomach, tears building up at the corners of his eyes.

"You're... you're one of them, aren't you?" he whispers, his voice barely more than a hoarse whisper.