I woke up with a start, heart jackhammering in my chest, the scent of old leather and musty books clinging to my skin. Bobby's couch had imprinted itself on my back, but the thing that really stuck was the dream—no, the nightmare.
Martha. Black smoke curling from her mouth like a serpent. Her empty eyes drilling into mine. Her voice echoing even now—"Another one. And this one smells... delicious."
I sat up too fast. My spine popped like bubble wrap.
"Son of a bitch," I muttered.
Dean looked up from his plate like I'd just insulted his mother. Pancakes halfway to his mouth. "Well, good morning, sunshine. Sleep well?"
"We're idiots," I said, rubbing my eyes with the heel of my hand.
Sam didn't glance up from his laptop. "That's not exactly breaking news."
I pointed at Bobby's neck. "The anti-possession charm. The necklace. Why the hell aren't we tattooing that on ourselves?"
Bobby froze mid-sip. Dean's fork clattered onto his plate. Sam finally looked up.
"…Huh," Dean said. "That's… actually a damn good idea."
Bobby squinted at me like I'd just grown a second head. "How'd you come up with that, boy?"
I shrugged, tried to play it cool. "Noticed your necklace. Figured ink's harder to lose than jewelry when you're getting tossed across the room."
He held my stare for a second too long. "You're not wrong," he finally muttered. "Most hunters I know don't think that far ahead."
Sam was already typing. "There's a few references in Dad's journals—variation of the symbol used by hunters in the '80s. Mostly theoretical, but… the logic tracks."
Dean stood and stretched. "Well, what the hell are we waiting for? Let's go get inked."
I blinked. "Now?"
Dean smirked. "What, you scared of a little needle?"
I rolled my eyes. "Dean, I've been stabbed by monsters. Needles are like tickles."
Bobby muttered, "Still hurts like a bastard."
The tattoo shop smelled like antiseptic, regret, and broken dreams. The guy behind the counter looked like he'd gotten in a fight with a Sharpie and lost.
Dean slapped down a sketch of the anti-possession symbol. "We want this. Four times."
Tattoo guy blinked. "You boys in some kind of cult?"
I grinned. "Worse. Family business."
Dean pointed to the center of his chest. "Put mine right here. Gotta protect the moneymaker."
Sam sighed. "Upper back. Right shoulder."
Bobby grunted. "Left pec. Do it right or I'll gut you."
The guy gave me a once-over. "And you?"
I flexed my arm. "Upper arm. Make it visible."
Dean elbowed me. "Showing off?"
"Damn right."
Two hours later, we walked out of that shop with raw skin and one less vulnerability. Dean cursed the entire time—claimed it tickled, but I saw the tears. Sam handled it like a robot. Bobby grunted through his like a soldier. I didn't flinch.
But for me, it wasn't about toughness.
It was about control.
About never waking up to someone else behind the wheel of my body. Ever.
I looked at the fresh ink. The anti-possession symbol was black, crisp, and mine. My ward. My warning.
No vacancies.
Back at Bobby's, Lena sat at the kitchen table, listlessly poking at a bowl of soup. Her eyes flicked up as we came in, then dropped to the pulsing stone under her shirt.
"You got tattoos?" she asked.
Dean pulled his shirt down just enough to show the edge of his. "What do you think? Sexy, right?"
She rolled her eyes. "Sure. If you're into bad decisions and questionable hygiene."
Sam smiled faintly. Bobby didn't bother hiding his grin.
Then business hit the table—literally. Bobby tossed a thick folder at me.
"New case. You and Dean."
I caught it mid-air and flipped it open. Bloody crime scene photos. Reports of shredded bodies, missing time, no consistent M.O.
"What are we looking at?" I asked.
Bobby rubbed the back of his neck. "Not sure. Too messy for a shifter. Too random for a werewolf. No lunar cycle. Whatever it is, it's tearing people apart and not even trying to hide it."
Dean leaned in over my shoulder. "So… Tuesday."
Sam closed his laptop. "I'll stay here, keep digging into the tracking spell. Lena's blood is... weird. Bobby thinks it's reacting to something. Might be a tether to Kharon."
Lena shifted in her seat, eyes dropping to her chest. The stone pulsed again. A slow, rhythmic throb. It looked... angry.
"Just find him," she said quietly. "Please."
There was something in her voice—fear, yeah, but also urgency. Like she knew we were running out of time and wasn't sure how much more time she had left.
I closed the file. "Where?"
"Blackwater," Bobby said, pointing to a map pinned to the wall. "Small town. Three hours north."
Dean grinned. "Road trip."
We hit the road in the Impala, engine purring beneath us. Dean was quiet. No music. No AC/DC. That alone told me he was thinking.
"You're quiet," he said finally, eyes still on the road.
"So are you."
He shrugged. "Thinking."
"About what?"
"Same thing as you, probably." He tapped his chest. "This thing... It's good. But it's not enough. Not against something like Kharon."
I didn't respond. He was right, but he didn't know the half of it.
I stared at my tattoo, still red and tender. A symbol that could keep a demon out—but it wouldn't stop Kharon. That thing wasn't interested in riding shotgun.
It wanted me.
Because I'm different. Because every time I kill a monster, I get stronger. I take a piece of them into me—like some supernatural parasite wearing a human suit. Wendigo speed. Ghost telekinesis. Reflexes that rival vamps.
It's a gift.
But it's also bait.
Kharon's watching. Waiting. And if he ever figures out why I have this ability—what I really am—then this little war of ours? It gets real ugly, real fast.
Dean's voice cut through my thoughts. "So what's your bet?"
I blinked. "On what?"
"This case. Shifter? Demon? Something new?"
I smirked. "My money's on 'pain in the ass.'"
He laughed. "A classic."
As the road unspooled ahead of us, I clenched my fists, feeling the subtle crackle of power just under my skin. The hitchhiker abilities I'd picked up weren't dormant—they were ready. Ready for whatever fresh nightmare we were driving toward.
Somewhere in Blackwater, something was feeding.
And it didn't care about moons or patterns or being seen.
But this time?
It didn't know who was coming for it.