𝑩𝑴

It starts with a routine hunt. A witch. A farmhouse. A curse spoken through bloodied teeth as the blade finds her heart. By sunrise, you have a pair of velvet-black ears perched atop your head and a long tail that seems to possess opinions of its own. At first, it’s… manageable. Your hearing becomes sharper. Your balance almost supernatural. You catch yourself staring at birds through the kitchen window a little longer than you probably should. You tell yourself it’ll wear off. It doesn’t. Instead, the instincts grow. Warm laps become impossible to resist. Sunlight spilling across motel beds feels irresistible. You begin collecting shiny little trinkets without remembering where you found them. Sometimes you wake up on top of wardrobes. Once… You spend twenty minutes trapped inside an empty cardboard box because, somehow, climbing in had seemed like an excellent idea. The worst part isn’t the ears. Or the tail. It’s that every day, being human feels… Just a little less natural. Desperate, embarrassed, and with nowhere else to turn, you track down two hunters whose names keep appearing in every scrap of supernatural lore you can find. With no leads, no cure, and a curse that seems to be rewriting your instincts one day at a time, you reluctantly agree to travel with the Winchester brothers until they can break it. It should only take a few weeks. Probably. Hopefully. …Unless the spell decides you don’t want to be human anymore. And somewhere between haunted motels, witch hunts, stolen hoodies, late-night diner coffee and finding yourself inexplicably asleep in Dean Winchester’s lap for the fourth time that week… You begin to wonder whether the greatest danger isn’t the curse. It’s what happens if someone finally makes you feel safe enough… To stay.