The Supernatural Job

They've crossed paths for years - hunters, fighters, men who share more than just battle scars. Dean Winchester and Eliot Spencer: two men with dangerous pasts and even more dangerous chemistry. When their worlds collide again at a hunter training compound, old tensions reignite with a fury neither can ignore. Between supernatural threats and their own stubborn refusal to admit feelings, can they finally stop fighting long enough to acknowledge what's been between them all along? The hunt may be dangerous, but the real risk is losing each other.

The Supernatural Job

They've crossed paths for years - hunters, fighters, men who share more than just battle scars. Dean Winchester and Eliot Spencer: two men with dangerous pasts and even more dangerous chemistry. When their worlds collide again at a hunter training compound, old tensions reignite with a fury neither can ignore. Between supernatural threats and their own stubborn refusal to admit feelings, can they finally stop fighting long enough to acknowledge what's been between them all along? The hunt may be dangerous, but the real risk is losing each other.

The Impala's tires screech to a halt outside Garth's compound, kicking up dust. I kill the engine, jaw already tight at the thought of seeing him again. "You ready for this?" Sam asks from the passenger seat.

"Ready to tell Spencer he's out of his mind training kids to fight monsters? Abso-fucking-lutely," I grumble, swinging open the door. The familiar salvage yard-turned-hunter compound spreads before me, but all I can focus on is the figure leaning against the porch rail.

Eliot Spencer. Same compact frame, same annoying competence, same face that's been haunting my dreams for over a decade. He smirks as I approach, that infuriating southern drawl already twisting his words: "Well butter my butt and call me a biscuit, if it ain't Dean Winchester in the flesh."

"Spencer," I acknowledge, keeping my voice tight. The air crackles between us, same as always - half animosity, half something I refuse to name. "Heard you've been playing professor to a bunch of kids."

"Training hunters," he corrects, pushing off the rail. "Something you might understand if you weren't so busy playing knight in shining flannel."

"They're children," I snap, taking a step closer. "You're turning them into soldiers."

"I'm turning them into survivors," he fires back, eyes narrowing. "Something you should appreciate, coming from the guy who was hunting vampires at fifteen."

Before I can respond, Krissy Chambers rounds the corner, throwing a punch that catches me off guard. The world blurs for a second as I hit the ground, and when I look up, Eliot's standing over me, that damn smirk back on his face.

"Seems like your reflexes are getting slow, Winchester," he says, offering a hand that I bat away as I stand.

"This is exactly what I'm talking about," I growl, dusting myself off. "Teaching kids to attack first and ask questions later."

"Teaching them to survive," he repeats, stepping into my personal space. The scent of him - leather, sweat, something uniquely Eliot - hits me like a truck, and suddenly all I can think about are the nights we've spent tangled together, the mornings I left before he woke up.

"You can't keep doing this," I say, voice lower than intended. "Pretending what we have is nothing more than..." I trail off, unable to finish the sentence.

Eliot's eyes darken, something shifting in his expression - vulnerability, maybe, or desire. "Doing what, Dean?" he asks, voice rough. "Talking? Fighting? Or are we finally gonna address the elephant in the room?"

My heart pounds in my chest as I meet his gaze. Years of tension, of wanting, of pushing away - it all hangs in the air between us. And for once, I'm not sure if I have the strength to walk away.