Next one! I'm hoping to get out another one by the end of tomorrow or Monday :)

Four months had passed since you'd settled into life with Sam and Dean.

Between hours of homework each night (thanks, AP teachers!), track after school, and the research you'd been doing to help Sam and Dean on their hunts, you'd barely had any time to relax. But what was making you most restless was the upcoming Saturday; Dean had told you that they'd be hunting a werewolf and you were allowed to go.

The hunt was a drive away, up in Montana, and at least seventeen hours away. You'd already let your teachers know that you wouldn't be in class on Monday, and they'd given you homework that you could complete on the drive up.

"Alright. Say you're jumped by the werewolf, and he's attacking you." Dean reviewed a scenario for what seemed the hundredth time. It was Friday night, and you were all having dinner at the bunker before going to bed for a long day of driving the next day. "You're close range because he's on top of you. What do you do?"

"If he's so close to me that I can't stab him in the heart, I'll try to at least cut him with the silver knife to slow him down," you answered promptly, bouncing in your chair at the table. "Don't worry! I'm ready!"

Sam chewed and swallowed his salad thoughtfully. "You can never be too ready when you're going into a hunt," he advised. "Especially when you're sixteen."

You nodded quickly, absorbing the information. Everything that they'd said about hunting you'd written down, desperate to be an asset and not a liability on the hunt.

"Werewolves are fast, and strong," Dean added. "We can barely hold them down, and we're a lot bigger than you. Don't try to attack them hand-on-hand, go for the knife immediately. And don't let them bite you."

"Got it," you said, trying not to sound too eager; you didn't want to seem like a little kid.

"Alright, I'm going to head in for the night," Sam said, standing. "What time you want to head out?" he asked, directing the question to Dean.

"Nothing before eight," Dean said automatically. "Coffee first."

Sam grimaced. "Fine. Let's leave at eight, then."

Dean looked a bit disappointed at that, opening his mouth to object, but then he closed it. "Alright. See you in the morning, Y/N."

You grinned at him and then bounded to your room to pack everything that you deemed potentially necessary to bring.

By eight in the morning, you'd thrown your bag into the trunk along with Sam and Dean's duffel bags.

"Want me to drive?" you asked, grinning at Dean, knowing full well what his response would be.

Dean paused. "Sure, kid. You've earned it," he decided.

You stopped short. "What? Are you serious?"

"Go ahead." He tossed you the keys.

You stared at them in awe for a moment. "Thanks!" you said enthusiastically, climbing into the front seat. Dean took the passenger, and Sam climbed into the back.

"But I swear, if you crash Baby, I'll kick your ass into next week," Dean warned as you started the engine.

It only took ten minutes for Dean to get frustrated with your driving.

"She's not meant to be driven this slowly, Y/N," he protested.

Sam snorted from the backseat. "She's going the speed limit, Dean."

"Exactly. That's slow. Baby's meant to be driven ten over."

You didn't keep your eyes off of the road. "I'm being safe! I don't want to crash your car!"

"At this rate, we'll be leaving Kansas tonight," Dean groaned.

You pressed on the gas a bit more, and the Impala sped forward to about three over the speed limit. "Happy?" you asked.

"No."

"I'm not going any faster than this," you declared. "Enjoy the safety of it."

"Well, you're going into a werewolf hunt, so you won't be enjoying safety for long," Dean said, rummaging through a box of cassettes. "How 'bout some Led Zeppelin?" He slid a tape in and turned the volume up high. You winced, making eye contact in the rear view mirror with Sam, who gave you a sympathetic look.

Even though you had only stopped for food and bathroom breaks, Dean, who had taken over the wheel thirty minutes into the ride, stopped at a motel in Sheridan, Wyoming. It was already eight at night and you were all wiped; driving was more exhausting than you had expected.

The motel was the dingiest, cheapest one you'd ever seen. The interior was dusty and disgusting, and the scent of mothballs permeated the entrance.

"Just staying for the night?" the guy asked at the desk. His teeth were horribly crooked and his hair looked like it hadn't been washed in a decade. He was tall; at least an inch over Sam.

"Yep."

"How many beds?" the guy asked, his eyes drifting over to you.

"Three, if you have it. Two beds and a pullout will work too," Sam said easily, handing him a credit card. The guy took it slowly, his actions slow and dull.

Sam accepted the room key and the three of you made your way to the back of the motel, opening up the door to find a cramped room. There were two beds and a small couch, which you took quickly out of courtesy to Sam and Dean's stature. Unfortunately, the couch wasn't a pull-out, but you found some sheets in the closet and made yourself a cozy nest on it.

"Hey, Y/N," Sam said, coming out of the bathroom and rubbing his hands through his hair. "Dean and I are going to hit the bar in town for a drink-"

"And to hustle some money," Dean interjected, grinning.

"You all good if we head out for the night?" Sam finished.

You nodded. "Go ahead," you said easily. After giving you a silver knife (just in case) and giving you strict instructions to put a salt line at the door once they were gone, they left.

You didn't stay up too late. You put the television on an old movie that you and your mom used to watch together when you were sick.

For some reason, the memory didn't sting. Instead, it felt like a distant dream that you were slowly forgetting.

That scared you more than anything, and you switched it to the news channel for the white noise.

You were glad that Sam and Dean were going out for a drink together, because lately you felt like you'd been a drag on the brothers. You considered yourself independent, but there was still so much that they did for you that it made you incredibly guilty.

Not to mention how you had pretty much invaded their lives and privacy now that you were living with them. You really hoped that your gratitude was conveyed to them, because they honestly had done so much for you since your family had been killed.

Deep down, you knew why you were living with them; not because they took you in as an orphan, but because they needed you for the war that was supposedly coming. You were their weapon, and they couldn't afford to lose you.

Once all of this was over, they'd probably drop you off at your aunt's house or something, you told yourself. Yes, they were doing a lot for you, and yes, you were starting to think of them as older brothers, but you had to remind yourself that they only needed you because of your time freezing.

Which, speaking of, you hadn't been able to do since you'd drained your batteries saving Sam and Dean last time. It wouldn't come, no matter how much you willed it to.

You didn't remember what time you'd fallen asleep, but you woke up sometime in the middle of the night. Sam and Dean were each in a bed, snoring. The television had been shut off and the curtains closed.

And one of them - you weren't sure who - had laid a thick blanket on top of you. A surge of guilt and pleasure flowed through you; you were desperate for them to think of you as a little sister, but at the same time you reminded yourself that they were just being kind to you because they were stuck with you, after all.

You reached Polson, Montana around mid-afternoon the next day.

"So, I mapped out all of the attacks," Sam said once you had booked a room at the inn. Dean was leaning against the kitchenette, a beer in hand, and Sam was sitting at the table. You were perched on the twin bed (there were three of them, and you were grateful to know you'd be on a bed and not a couch), sitting criss-cross.

"And," Sam continued, "I think I've pinpointed the location. There's a dam in town. It was built during the '30s, and actually was funded by Roosevelt, because there was a lack of employment in the area-"

"We don't care," Dean interrupted. "So they're at the dam?" He picked up his silver knife and twirled it in his hand. "Alright. Let's get this done."

Sam stood up. "Hang on," he said hesitantly. "Maybe we shouldn't rush into it."

"Why not? Better to gank 'em before they know hunters are in town."

"Yeah, but… should we take things slow with Y/N? Werewolves aren't a game, Dean," Sam said, glancing at you.

You felt your cheeks heat up. "It's fine," you said quickly. "We can go tonight. I'm ready."

"Alright," Sam said doubtfully. "Should we go check things out?"

Fifteen minutes later Dean was driving uphill towards the dam. The parking was by a path that led to the dam, so the Impala was left there while you all got out of the car.

"This isn't my first hunt," you insisted when Dean opened his mouth to start telling you the procedure again. "I'll be fine."

"But it is your first dangerous hunt," Sam interjected. "Aside from being around demons and ghosts, you haven't encountered any monsters yet."

"So, ground rules," Dean said firmly. "You take the middle, always. I want Sam and me to be on either side of you at all times. No lingering in the back to check something out or going ahead."

"I wasn't planning on doing that," you responded, grinning at him. The thought of going off on your own made your blood run cold. You hadn't realized until now how nervous you were.

"If I tell you to run, you get the hell out of there and leave me and Sam. Got it?" Dean continued.

"I won't leave you guys there," you said, disgruntled. "Look, I promise not to be stupid. How about that?"

"And, if we say to hide, hide. If we tell you to do anything, including leaving us bleeding on the floor to save yourself, you're going to book your ass out of there. Okay?"

"Fine," you lied, just to appease him. "You sound like Dumbledore before he and Harry go to the cave in the Half-Blood Prince," you added. Dean gave you a blank look.

"You never read Harry Potter?" you protested.

"I did," Sam said helpfully, raising a hand up into the air. "I know what part you're talking about."

"See? You should read it," you suggested as you continued to trek along the trail, Sam in front and Dean behind.

It didn't take long to reach the dam. It was wide, arcing across the edge of the river. Water gushed over the edge of the dam loudly, roaring in your ears.

"There's a cabin over there!" Sam shouted over the volume of the falls, pointing to the abandoned shack by the dam. "Let's go check it out!"

You nodded in agreement, hoisting your bag up higher onto your shoulder. Sam led the way to the cabin, pulling his gun out in preparation. You poised your small shotgun as well - Dean had filled it with silver bullets for you.

The cabin seemed to be for rangers and tourists. It was quite large; there was a second floor, and the cabin extended far back. Sam kicked the door open and you were greeted by an array of brochures, along with a wall of taxidermy.

"People have been here recently," Sam said quietly, pointing at the flooring. "The dust is disturbed."

"The question is, people or werewolves?" Dean muttered, stepping into the cabin behind you and closing the door.

"Smell that?" Sam said after a moment, nodding to the stairs ahead. "I think it's coming from up there."

"What is that?" you whispered, putting a hand over your nose and trying not to gag.

"Corpses," Dean replied shortly. "It's not a good smell. Yeah, I think we found our little werewolf den."

The words had just come out of his mouth when there was a rush of movement and sound. Three werewolves came out at them from the room slightly ahead, and Sam, who was in front, fired off a round instinctively.

"Down!" Dean yelled from in back, and you ducked along with Sam as the brothers both shot wildly at the werewolves.

You aimed, focusing hard, and shot at the wolf. The bullet lodged itself in the werewolf, but it didn't slow it down at all. On the contrary, the wolf grinned, and approached you, no longer running. Sam and Dean weren't shooting now, and all three wolves were stopping. You didn't dare fire, instead standing tensely in between Sam and Dean, who moved forward so that they were a step in front of you.

"What the hell are you?" Dean asked tersely.

"Werewolves," the largest one in front said. He was at least five inches taller than Sam and three times wider than you.

"If you were werewolves, you'd be dead. We loaded you with silver," Sam said, still aiming his gun at them.

A thrill of fear went through you at that. You glanced at Sam and then Dean. Both of them had murderous expressions, and you realized in that moment that you would not want them as your enemy.

"You're so stupid. You thought you could galavant in here and take us out? No, we heard that you were coming through here for a werewolf hunt," the female werewolf in the back said. "So we jumped into these wolfy meatsuits." She blinked, and her eyes went pitch black. You drew in your breath sharply, and Sam and Dean moved in closer, practically blocking you from view.

"Demons can possess werewolves?" Dean asked. "Never seen that before." His voice was calm yet so stony that you could tell he was caught off guard.

"A bit more difficult, but it's worth it," the large demon-werewolf said. "Now, I'm going to have to ask you to hand over the young one. Crowley still wants her."

"Crowley sent you?" Sam asked, and you realized he was stalling for time.

"No, actually. See, Hell has its own political parties, and we don't like Crowley," the female said. "What better way to smear the King of Hell than to take his desired weapon ourselves and have a bit of fun with it? It'd be hilarious, trust me."

Dean's hand was slowly creeping to his back pocket, where you knew he kept the demon knife.

"You want her just to rub it in Crowley's face?" Sam confirmed, disgust in his voice.

"That's right," the large one said mildly. "Hand her over or we'll take her by force."

"You'll get Y/N over my dead body," Dean growled. He suddenly whipped the demon knife out of his pocket and lunged forward, stabbing the female demon-werewolf in the chest. She gasped, flickering slightly, and then collapsed to the floor.

"Shoot her with silver!" you heard Dean yell as pandemonium erupted. You shot at the woman, who was stirring, and she went down, unmoving. Sam tackled the largest werewolf and Dean took on the third. Four more demon-werewolves came out of the bedroom ahead like they had been waiting for their cue, and you shot at them, though it didn't do much.

Dean seemed to be winning with the third one, but Sam was struggling; his opponent was large and slowly beginning to overcome him. He gripped Sam's throat, cutting off his air with a satisfied smirk.

Before you even thought about what you were doing, you tackled the large demon-werewolf, your gun skidding across the floor. He was so solid and large that it barely did anything, but he fell sideways a bit, you tumbling on top of him.

"Sam!" you gasped as the werewolf quickly flipped you over and pinned you to the floor.

But Sam was in the middle of stabbing one of the other demon-werewolves. "Hang on, Y/N!" he shouted.

From the floor you got a blurry glimpse of Sam and Dean, who were slowly but steadily overcoming the other demon-werewolves.

Then, the large werewolf brought the butt of your gun towards your head, and everything went black.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

There was coldness, and blackness. Nothing more. You opened your eyes and panicked when you couldn't see anything. The ground you were sitting on was cold and hard; it wasn't difficult to realize it was rock. Your head was pounding and you touched a hand to it, then pulled it away, wincing. It felt sticky with blood.

"Sam? Dean?" you whispered cautiously. There was no answer. The tiniest pinprick of light was directly above you, and you fixed your eyes on it, even though it didn't shed any light on where you were.

After crawling around a bit to feel where you were, you discover that there were bars around you.

It was like an underground jail.

"Hello?" you called, a bit louder. There was no answer except for the dripping of moisture on the walls.

You shivered, trying hard not to cry. All you wanted was to not be in this dark, cold pit; you wanted to be back in the motel room with Sam and Dean.

Better yet, more than anything right now you wanted to be back home, safe with your mom and dad.

But they were dead, they had died months ago, you reminded yourself. That life is gone. Don't think about that anymore.

"Sam! Dean!" you yelled, your voice echoing. "Help me!" Your words ended in a sob and you curled yourself up into a ball, wanting warmth more than anything.