Sam Winchester.

Two years had passed since Bobby Singer had taken in his niece, Elena, after her parents died on a hunting trip. Since then, the junkyard had become her home. Among weapons, occult books, and disassembled engines, she had learned to survive the only way she knew how: hunting.

At seventeen, Elena was as stubborn as Bobby would admit he'd never met. Intelligent, impulsive, and too proud to ask for help, she insisted she could face any creature on her own.

That afternoon, the familiar rumble of the Impala echoed through the property.

"Bobby! We're here!" Dean's voice called from outside.

Elena, who was practicing her marksmanship in the backyard, simply threw another knife at the target.

Thunk.

Right in the center.

She didn't even bother to look at who had arrived.

Dean appeared first, whistling.

So this is the mysterious niece.

Ana Elena crossed her arms.

— And you're the Winchesters.

Sam appeared right behind his brother, silently observing the girl.

She was younger than she had imagined.

But the number of knives stuck in the tree trunk and the shotgun leaning against the porch made it clear that Bobby wasn't exaggerating when he said she knew how to take care of herself.

— Sam. Dean. This is Ana Elena. And, Ana... these are the two idiots I'm always complaining about.

Dean put his hand to his chest.

That hurts.

You will survive.

Ana Elena let out a discreet laugh.

It was the first time Sam realized she looked very different from the image he had created. He had expected to find a frightened girl after losing her parents.

He found a hunter.

"Bobby said you guys would take less time," she commented.

Dean raised an eyebrow.

Are you complaining about how late we are?

I'm just saying that you guys aren't as good with punctuality as you claim to be.

Dean looked at Sam.

I liked her.

I didn't ask for your opinion.

Sam couldn't hide a small smile.

She realized.

Are you finding something funny?

I just thought you sounded exactly like Bobby.