So here you are; staring down the barrel of Dean Winchester's gun. His large strong hand still wrapped around your neck, keeping you still and just barely making it difficult to breathe. He wanted you like this. On the edge and scared shitless. You're hands were grasping his arm in front of you, holding tight-but you weren't able to escape his grasp.

'What the hell have I done?'

"How much harder do I need to squeeze for an answer?" His voice was too calm for comfort. Your (y/e/c) eyes widened at the statement as he squeezed your throat hard, making you wince.

You were gasping for air, clawing at his arm in a plea to release you.
After what felt like an eternity (it was probably only about 30 seconds) of his strangulation, he finally let go of you. He took a half step back but kept his gun aimed at your head.

You collapsed down to the floor, holding your neck like that would help you catch your breath.

You faced the floor on your knees, coughing, trying to form words as fast as you could before he could shoot you.
"Okay! O-Okay-" Your dry bruised throat paid you no heed. More coughing. "I'll tell you everything. I swear. Please-d-don't kill me yet…" You started to cry again.

'Grow the fuck up!' You told yourself. You dared to look at Dean through strands of your (y/h/c) hair that hung in your view.

Dean's face contorted in a way you couldn't read. And just like that he lowered his weapon.

"Get the hell up." He ordered.

You reached for the bed to pull yourself up, your weak legs were unreliable again. Not being able to walk for a few weeks would do that to a person.
And thankfully you were able to stand.

In that moment, the tension between you and Dean was indescribable. Your eyes pierced one another's.
You were about to open your mouth and spill the beans-about everything. Who and what you were, your real last name even. You'd tell him if it meant you'd get to leave…alive.

But just then, Dean holstered his pistol in the back waist band of his dark blue faded jeans.

"Come on. Let's go." He ordered.

Dean reached for your upper arm, and in fear you tore away from his grasp. That only made it worse for you. Dean found your arm once more, gripping it so tightly you thought he'd rip it off-and he began walking out of his bedroom pulling you forcefully behind him.

"W-Where are you taking me?" You whimpered. Tears stained your face, and you dug your heels into the floor, hoping to slow him down…but to no avail.

And from Dean came no reply. Only silence through his clenched teeth, his jaw bones protruding in and out in anger.

The two of you met the end of one corridor, then turned and started down another one you hadn't been down yet. It was darker, and looked like they didn't come this way very often. His stride was too fast for you to keep up with now, your long tan legs began to quake once more.

"Please Dean! S-Slow down, what are you doing?!" You begged him, trying your best to gain a response-a word, anything would have made you feel better.

In that moment you were so focused at trying to read his face, you broke your concentration on keeping your stride legs give out as he is dragging you behind him mercilessly by your arm, the one he'd just patched up not an hour before.

You hit the floor and caught yourself with your free arm, crying out in pain at a searing pain in your left leg.
'Shit! My stitches…'

You're stitches burst at the abrupt landed you'd just had, a fresh trickle of crimson blood running down your leg.

Dean hadn't let go of your arm yet, the fall happened so fast. To your disbelief he paid the sight of new blood coming from your leg no attention, and ripped you off the floor by your arm once again.
He still said nothing. Ouch.

You made damn sure you stayed on your feet this time. Dean Winchester was in no mood to carry you, that was for damn sure.

Dean drug you up to a door at the end of the second corridor, and stopped in front of it to fish out a pair of keys from his jeans' pocket.
Turning the door knob he led you in past a sliding bookcase, then flipped a light switch to his left.

Terror flooded your eyes the moment you saw what filled this room-it was like a dungeon, or a torture chamber-you weren't sure which, but you didn't care.
Shackles, hand cuffs and weapons hung from every wall, and the solitary light bulb illuminated a single chair in the middle of the room. Right in the middle of a Devil's Trap. The chair had it's very own set of restraints, with spell work galore.

You were fucked.

Dean's grip tightened as he sensed you were about to bolt, to try to fight your way out of this. And he was right.

'No no no! Not again.….RUN.'

You didn't realize it but you screamed 'No' at the top of your lungs as you tried to break free of Dean's hold on you. You punched, slapped, scratched and kicked at him-you gave it all you could in your state.

"Stop!" Dean yelled, who had managed to dodge nearly every fist you punched at him. And just like that, fiercely he whipped you around to face away from him, held you flush against his solid body with his arms around your waist and lifted.

He carried you over to the chair kicking and screaming.

Dean planted you roughly in the steel seat, and before you knew what hit you you couldn't move your feet, arms, or even your head. Spelled metal restraints held you every which way, even around your neck to the back of the chair. Then you felt it…you couldn't explain it, but the spell work on the restraints and chair were keeping you in a way that made your spine quiver.

And you stopped. You stopped crying, you stopped kicking and trying to break free; you just shut down. You didn't know it then, but mentally you couldn't handle it. You'd just escaped the horrendous grasp of demons and torture, for weeks you'd endured pain you'd never imagined; you couldn't grasp going through something like that again. You were on auto-pilot.

"Dean?!" Sam's voice bellowed through the bunker.

'Oh my god, maybe he can talk some sense into him!' You hoped.

"Sammy! In the dungeon!" Dean hollered back through the door way.

You're gut wrenched at the word, and you squeezed your eyes shut quickly. You didn't want to hear that word.

Sam's footsteps were nearing the door as he started to yell out to Dean again. "You okay?! I saw the blood in the hallwa-"
He saw the scene unfolding before him. His mouth dropped and glanced between the two of you.
"-Dean what the fuck?! What the hell is going on here?!" Sam jogged over to you. "Are you okay?!"

You only got the chance to meet his eyes before Dean cut you off. "She's not who she says she is, Sam!" Dean pointed his finger at you.

"What the hell are you talking about?!" Sam exclaimed, taking one quick step backward.

"Just trust me, okay?!" Dean rose his voice annoyed that his brother was questioning his judgement.

He walked closer to Sam to explain.

"Sammy, think about! Those demons-it's probably a freakin' set up man! I mean, SERIOUSLY-what if they knew we were on our way to gank 'em, huh? The whole…"

Dean gestured to you as Sam's head was cocked in interest. "…The whole 'insanely sexy damsel in distress' dangled right in front of us…she's probably working for 'em! Maybe, just maybe they wanted someone on the inside of the bunker…"

Dean's voice trailed off, and damn it! If you were Dean you'd be thinking the exact same thing right now. Of course, it'd be perfect-but unfortunately for you, that was going to make it harder for them to believe you.
And at the same time, your inner-goddess was blushing because Dean Winchester just called you 'insanely sexy'.

'Well, there's one win at least…'

You looked at Dean then at Sam, but they were completely ignoring you. You expected Sam to come to your defense, but when he didn't, your heart sank.

He ran his fingers through his hair and cursed out loud, with an angry huff. "Damnit! How could we have been so stupid?! I told you we shoulda left her at the hospital, Dean!" He pointed his finger at his older brother.

"Hey, excuse me for tryin' to help her out!" Dean protested.

They were both angry at the scenario they thought to be true.

"No Dean, you got all googley-eyed over a pretty girl, and you let your guard down!" Sam yelled at Dean again, who's annoyance was building.

You wish they'd stop talking about you like you weren't there. But you guessed that was how they acted in front of monsters. Monsters.

'I am not a god damned monster…'

You knew you had to speak up while they paused. "Will you let me tell you the truth?…Please?" You managed the words out, they were quiet and broken, but precise.

They both turned to you, jolted out of their angry exchange.

Sam clenched his fists at his sides and stepped forward into the Devil's Trap. "Start talking."

Sam towered over you, waiting for you to speak. Dean joined him, both of them had their best 'bitch faces' on.

"I'm a hunter." You decided to start off slow, ease into the whole 'I'm the spawn of a Demon and an Angel' thing.

You paused waiting for them to reply, but they only raised their eyebrows waiting for you to continue.

You sighed a breath you'd been holding in for a long time.

"I've been hunting since I was 15. My Mom didn't come home one day, and I've never met my Dad." You looked down at the floor. This was harder than you thought.

"Cool story, we'll send you a sympathy card sometime-get to the part that matters!" Dean yelled.

You nodded, averted his gaze, and cleared your throat. "The-Uh…the special thing about my p-parents is…that they weren't completely human…"

Dean narrowed his eyes, and Sam crossed his arms; they were intrigued.

"My Mom…she-she was an Angel-IS an Angel, I mean I'm not sure if she's alive but-" You were interrupted by Sam.

"Wait, so you're a Nephilim?" He asked. You shook your head.

"Uh, no…not exactly. My Dad…h-he um…" You were tripping over your words, stuttering like an idiot.

"Oh for fuck's sake! Spit it out!" Dean screamed at you in frustration.

You jumped at the volume of his voice and opened your mouth to finish, when a man's voice you hadn't heard before boomed out throughout the dungeon.

"Sam, Dean! Let her go!" You couldn't see him, but Dean and Sam both turned on their heels to face him.

Dean said, "Where the hell have you been Cas?!"

*