Dawn painted Bobby's scrapyard in shades of gunmetal and rust, the world caught between sleep and waking. I stood barefoot in the dirt, breathing in the sharp scent of motor oil and cold earth, sweat already trickling down my spine despite the morning chill. Ten tons of raw power simmered under my skin, a storm looking for a reason to break loose.
Control.That's what today was about.
Across the yard, Dean leaned against the Impala's hood, arms crossed, coffee steaming between his fingers. Sam sat on the porch steps, flipping through one of Bobby's battered lore books. Bobby himself stood near a stack of junked cars, his stance casual, but his eyes missed nothing.
"Alright, Hercules," Dean called out, voice full of that classic Winchester smirk. "Show us what you got."
I exhaled slowly, grounding myself, then crouched and pressed my palms flat against the earth. The ground groaned under my touch—
CRACK.
A spiderweb of fractures split the dirt. My arms trembled once, and then—
—a two-ton engine block tore free from the scrap pile, rising six feet off the ground like it weighed nothing.
Dean's coffee cup paused halfway to his mouth."Well, shit," he muttered.
"Focus, ya idjit!" Bobby barked, voice like a whipcrack. "Strength ain't worth a damn if you can't aim it."
Jaw tight, I shifted my stance. The engine block wobbled—then shot forward like a cannonball—
—and smashed into the rusted shell of a '67 Chevy. The door crumpled like a soda can, the whole frame shuddering.
Sam gave a low whistle, closing his book with a snap. "That's... that's not normal."
Dean laughed under his breath. "Remind me never to arm-wrestle you."
I flexed my fingers, feeling the faint pulse of strain fade as my body healed faster than it could get hurt. "That's not even the scary part."
Turning back to the scrap heap, I closed my eyes and reached out—not with muscles, but with something deeper.
Metal groaned.Bolts twisted free on their own.Wires slithered from housings like snakes uncoiling.
Piece by piece, the engine disassembled midair, parts orbiting me in a slow, deliberate halo.
When I opened my eyes, Sam's book slipped from his fingers.
"How the hell are you doing that?" he asked, voice low with awe.
I let the parts clatter to the ground. "Ghost telekinesis plus vampire focus," I said, flashing a crooked grin. "Call it... creative recycling."
Bobby grunted, unimpressed, and tossed me a baseball. "Catch."
I snagged it instinctively—SQUELCH.
The ball exploded in my hand, stuffing and leather raining down like sad little clouds.
Dean burst out laughing, nearly spilling his coffee. "Smooth, Superman."
I shook bits of yarn from my fingers, scowling. "Shut up."
Bobby just sighed and scrubbed a hand over his face. "We got a helluva lotta work ahead."
By noon, the sun was blazing overhead and my shirt clung to me like a second skin. My head pounded from overusing the telekinesis, my muscles ached, and every breath tasted like rust and sweat—but hell if we hadn't made progress.
Real progress.
I could now:
Crush a car hood without wrecking the engine underneath.
Pluck a fly out of midair with a flick of thought (Dean had dared me—twice).
Juggle four tires while balancing on one foot (Sam timed me—he took it way too seriously).
But the real test came when Bobby, with a gleam in his eye that spelled trouble, dragged out the heavy artillery.
He slapped a grenade launcher into my hands. "Winchester Special," he said. "Recoil'll break a normal man's shoulder clean."
I hefted it. It felt light. Too light. "And you want me to...?"
"Fire it one-handed," Bobby said. "And deflect the shrapnel midair."
Dean choked on his beer. "You're outta your damn mind!"
Sam looked skyward, muttering, "This is how we die."
But there was no backing down. Not now.
I braced, raised the launcher—
BOOM.
The weapon kicked like a pissed-off mule, but my body absorbed it, barely shifting.
In the same heartbeat, I shoved outward with my mind—
—and the explosion froze ten feet away. A glittering cloud of metal shards and debris hung suspended like deadly confetti.
Dean's jaw practically hit the ground.
Sam snapped his pen clean in half.
Bobby just nodded once, like he'd known I could do it all along. "Better."
By the time twilight rolled in, the four of us slumped on Bobby's porch, bruised, battered, and, in my case, ravenous. My metabolism was a black hole now—burning through energy like napalm.
I demolished an entire pizza while Sam poked at the fresh bruise blooming across my ribs—a gift from a rogue tire during training.
"It's already healing," he said, eyes wide behind his bangs.
"Perks of being a monster buffet," I grunted around a mouthful of pepperoni.
Dean tossed me another slice. "Alright, superman, what's the catch? There's always a catch."
I hesitated.Because this—this was the part I hated.
I set the pizza down and wiped my hands on my jeans. The words felt too big in my throat.
"Kharon."
Bobby's chair creaked ominously as he leaned forward. "Explain."
I swallowed thickly, meeting their eyes one by one.
"This ability I have—the power to take on monster traits when I kill them—it's not some random mutation," I said quietly. "It's a gift."
"It's a gift?" Sam asked me
"Yeah." I flexed my hand, watching the tendons shift under my skin.
Dean frowned. "So you're telling me you were built for this?"
"In a way," I said. "But it also makes me a target."
Their faces tightened.
"Kharon knows about me. He's obsessed. He doesn't just want to kill me—he wants to study me. Break me down. Build more like me."
Sam rubbed his jaw, thinking fast. "Like Hess was trying to do."
"Worse," I said grimly. "Hess was just a pawn. Kharon's the mastermind. If he figures out how I work..." I trailed off, but the implication hung heavy between us.
Dean's knuckles whitened around his beer bottle. "He'll make an army."
A chill crept up my spine that had nothing to do with the evening air.
Bobby slapped his knees and stood. "Then we cut him off at the knees. Two more weeks of training. Then we hunt Hess. Stop Kharon's pipeline before it starts."
I nodded, the weight of the future settling on my shoulders like a second skin.
Dean and Sam exchanged a long look, some silent conversation passing between them. Then—both nodded, almost in sync.
We were in this together. For better or worse.
As night blanketed the yard in shadows, I wandered down the gravel path toward the Impala. Leaned against her side, staring into the darkened glass.
The reflection that stared back wasn't fully human anymore.Not with the black edging my irises, the faint silver shimmer just under my skin.
But they were still my eyes.Still me.
And I'd be damned if I let Kharon take that away.
Not without a fight he'd never forget.