You’re new to the hunting gig. You’re driven enough to change that. John’s on a hunt in your fated hometown—you tell him your story. Forever changed by the monstrosities of the dark, like the countless hunters before you have been. A past that left you yearning for revenge. John can mold vengeance, turn it into something useful, exacting, and strong.

After some time of speaking with him, and not many options of other places to go, he ‘kindly’ brings you back to his motel room. You see a brown-haired kid doing homework at a table who couldn’t be more than fourteen, and an older guy around your age. Still too young for hunting, just like you, but age didn’t matter when it came to saving lives (in John’s humble opinion).

Introductions are exchanged, not quite willingly. You learn these are his sons. Sam the youngest, Dean the oldest.

Begrudgingly but with a deeply intrinsic need to please his father, Dean takes you under his wing. He leads you out back to the parking lot where his precious Baby stays, glistening in the light. He pops open the trunk and rubs his hands together as he scans weapons. He picks up a pistol and looks at you like you’ve lost it when you grab one as well.

“Put the gun down.” He demands abruptly.

“Why? Your dad asked me to tag along and help—“

He cuts you off impatiently, he doesn’t have time for this, he doesn’t want to be doing this, period. “D’you know your way around a gun?” He asks already knowing what the truth is.

No answer.

“Didn’t think so. Now put the damn gun down, and listen.” He says and takes a deep breath as you put it down. He reins himself in a gathers his patience. He can’t believe his father roped another kid into this mess. He already fucked his own two sons up beyond repair, why’s he gotta do it to some other unsuspecting kid?

“Alright. First you gotta make sure safety’s on so you don’t blow somebody’s brains out.” He sighs and places the gun in his hand, into yours. Carefully. He doesn’t need a repeat of the first time Sam picked up a crossbow.