The black 1967 Chevrolet Impala sped across the Kansas highway.
The road stretched endlessly beneath a pale evening sky.
Inside the car, no one spoke.
Dean kept his eyes on the road.
Ben was reading Sam's letter for what felt like the hundredth time.
Malach sat silently in the back seat, watching the passing fields through the window.
Finally, Ben broke the silence.
"So... let me get this straight."
Dean didn't look away from the road.
"Go ahead."
"We just got a phone call from a dead hunter..."
Dean nodded.
"Yep."
"...telling us to go to a secret bunker built by an organization that disappeared years ago..."
"That's right."
Ben sighed.
"...and the immortal guardian sitting behind me looks worried about it."
Malach calmly answered.
"Correct."
Ben leaned back in his seat.
"...I miss vampires."
Dean couldn't help but laugh.
"Me too."
Hours later...
The Impala turned onto a forgotten country road.
Dean slowed the car.
Ahead of them stood an abandoned farmhouse.
Weathered.
Silent.
Exactly as Sam had described it in the stories Dean had heard growing up.
Ben looked around.
"This is it?"
Dean nodded.
"The Men of Letters bunker is underneath."
Malach stepped out of the Impala.
The moment his boots touched the ground, his expression changed.
He slowly closed his eyes.
As if listening.
Then he whispered:
"...Someone's been here."
Dean immediately reached for the Colt.
"Recently?"
Malach opened his eyes.
"Within the last twenty-four hours."
Ben grabbed his shotgun.
"That's not comforting."
Dean led the way inside the abandoned farmhouse.
Dust covered everything.
Broken furniture lay scattered across the floor.
Nothing seemed disturbed.
At first.
Dean walked toward an old bookshelf.
He placed his hand behind one of the shelves.
Pressed a hidden switch.
With a loud mechanical rumble—
The floor slowly split open.
The hidden staircase descended into darkness.
Ben smiled.
"Okay..."
He looked at Dean.
"...that is unbelievably cool."
Dean smirked.
"Told you."
The bunker was exactly as Dean had imagined.
Long stone corridors.
Old brass lights.
Shelves filled with thousands of books.
Ancient weapons displayed behind reinforced glass.
Maps covering entire walls.
Generations of forgotten knowledge.
Ben slowly turned in a circle.
His jaw dropped.
"...This place is incredible."
Dean smiled quietly.
For a moment...
He felt close to his father.
To Sam.
To the family he had never truly known.
Then—
A loud metallic clang echoed somewhere deep inside the bunker.
Everyone froze.
Dean's smile disappeared.
Ben immediately raised the shotgun.
Malach whispered:
"...We're not alone."
They followed the sound through the endless corridors.
The deeper they walked...
The colder the bunker became.
Lights flickered.
Books trembled on their shelves.
Dean stopped outside the archive room.
The heavy metal door stood slightly open.
Someone had forced it.
Dean slowly pushed it wider.
Inside—
Books covered the floor.
Cabinets had been torn apart.
Old files scattered everywhere.
Someone had searched the archives.
Carefully.
Methodically.
Ben noticed something on the central table.
A symbol had been carved into the wood.
Not with a knife.
With claws.
Malach stared at it.
His face turned pale.
"...No..."
Dean looked at him.
"You know that symbol?"
Malach nodded slowly.
His voice had become almost a whisper.
"It's the mark of the Watchers."
Ben frowned.
"Watchers?"
Malach never took his eyes off the symbol.
"They were the first guardians..."
A long silence followed.
Then—
"...before I was."
Dean's eyes narrowed.
"I thought you said you guarded the First Gate."
Malach looked at him with visible regret.
"I lied."
Silence filled the archive.
Ben slowly lowered his shotgun.
Dean's expression hardened.
"Start talking."
Malach closed his eyes.
Then quietly admitted:
"I wasn't the first Keeper..."
He looked at the claw mark.
"...I was the last."
At that exact moment—
The bunker's emergency alarm suddenly blared.
WARNING. SECURITY BREACH.
Red lights flooded every corridor.
A metallic voice echoed through the bunker.
"Unauthorized presence detected."
Dean looked toward the main hallway.
Heavy blast doors began slamming shut throughout the bunker.
One after another.
BOOM.
BOOM.
BOOM.
Ben looked at Dean.
"Please tell me that's a defense system."
Dean slowly shook his head.
His eyes fixed on the security monitor mounted above the archive door.
Three figures had just entered the bunker.
Each wore long black coats.
Each carried an ancient blade.
And each had glowing silver eyes.
Malach whispered, almost in despair:
"...They found me."
The leader looked directly into the security camera.
As if he knew Dean was watching.
Then he smiled.
And with one effortless swing of his blade...
He cut through a reinforced steel door nearly thirty centimeters thick.
Dean tightened his grip on the Colt.
For the first time since inheriting the Winchester legacy...
He realized they weren't the hunters anymore.
They were the ones being hunted.