Chapter 2

The Impala's engine rumbled, a sound Ethan recognized from countless episodes of Supernatural. He sat in the backseat, hyper-aware of Sam and Dean's furtive glances in the rearview mirror. The streets of Windom slid by outside, familiar yet alien.

Dean cleared his throat. "So, Adam... what do you remember about our dad?"

Ethan tensed, knowing he had to tread carefully. He sifted through Adam's memories, separating fact from fiction. "Not much, to be honest. He came around a few times when I was a kid. Taught me some basic car maintenance."

"That's it?" Sam pressed, his tone skeptical.

Ethan shook his head. "Look, I know you're fishing for information, but I can't give you what I don't have. John Winchester was barely a presence in my life." He leaned forward, meeting Dean's eyes in the rearview mirror. "What I want to know is how the hell I'm alive when I distinctly remember being eaten by ghouls."

The brothers exchanged a loaded glance. Dean's knuckles whitened on the steering wheel. "We were hoping you could tell us that, kid."

They pulled into a run-down motel, its neon sign flickering weakly. Inside the musty room, Ethan watched with a mix of fascination and unease as Sam and Dean laid salt lines and drew protective sigils. His training screamed at him to secure the perimeter, but he forced himself to stay put, knowing Adam wouldn't have those instincts.

"Alright," Dean said, sitting across from Ethan. "Start from the beginning. What's the last thing you remember?"

Ethan closed his eyes, recalling the show's plotline. "I was home with my mom. There was a noise downstairs. She went to check, and then... nothing. Just darkness, and then I was clawing my way out of the ground." He looked up, meeting their eyes. "But that's not the whole story, is it? You said ghouls killed me."

Sam's expression softened with sympathy. "Yeah, they did. We thought you were dead, Adam. We... we buried you."

The weight of the situation hit Ethan anew. He was living in a world he'd only known as fiction, inhabiting the body of a dead man. He felt a wave of nausea and genuine grief for the life Adam had lost.

"I need a minute," he muttered, retreating to the bathroom.

Alone, Ethan stared at Adam's reflection. The face looking back was young, vulnerable, nothing like the hardened military man he'd been. He did a few quick exercises, testing his new body's limits. It was less conditioned than he was used to, but there was a strange resilience there, an energy he couldn't quite define. It felt, good...

Returning to the main room, his eyes fell on a battered acoustic guitar. Without thinking, he picked it up, surprised to find his fingers moving with unexpected familiarity across the strings.

"You play?" Dean asked, eyebrows raised.

"Apparently," Ethan muttered, just as surprised. He set the guitar down, unnerved by how natural it had felt. This merging of consciousnesses was more complex than he'd anticipated.

A news report on the ancient TV caught his attention: "...authorities are investigating a series of gruesome murders in the Windom area. Witnesses report seeing what they describe as 'inhuman figures' fleeing the scene..."

Ethan's instincts kicked in, assessing the threat. He turned to Sam and Dean, seeing the same realization on their faces. "It's the ghouls, isn't it? They're still out there."

Dean nodded grimly. "Looks like we've got a hunt on our hands."

"I'm coming with you," Ethan said firmly, surprising himself with his determination.

Sam looked skeptical. "Adam, no offense, but you don't have any hunting experience. It's too dangerous."

Ethan bit back a retort about his previous occupation. Instead, he leaned forward, his voice low and intense. "Those things killed my mother. They killed me. I may not be a hunter, but I'm not sitting this one out. I can help."

The brothers exchanged a look, having one of their silent conversations. Finally, Dean sighed. "Alright, kid. But you follow our lead, got it? No heroics."

As they began to plan the hunt, Ethan felt a surge of adrenaline. This was familiar territory – planning an op, assessing risks. He might be in over his head in this supernatural world, but his training hadn't abandoned him.

"We should start by mapping out the attack sites," he suggested, falling into tactical mode. "Look for patterns, potential lairs."

Dean looked at him curiously. "Not bad, Adam. Where'd you learn that?"

Ethan shrugged, thinking quickly. "True crime podcasts. You pick things up."

As night fell over Windom, Ethan prepared himself for the hunt ahead. He was a stranger in a familiar world, armed with borrowed memories and a lifetime of training he had to hide. But as he watched the Winchesters check their weapons, a sense of purpose settled over him.

He might not fully understand how or why he was here, but he knew one thing for certain: he was going to make a difference in this world, one hunt at a time.

...

...

...

decay assaulted Ethan's heightened senses as he crouched behind a moss-covered tombstone. The cemetery sprawled before him, a maze of weathered marble and overgrown paths bathed in silvery moonlight. His ears strained, picking up the faintest rustle of leaves, the distant hoot of an owl, and the barely audible breathing of Sam and Dean from their positions nearby.

"Remember the plan," Dean's gruff whisper crackled through the earpiece, unnervingly loud to Ethan's sensitive hearing. "We're here to trap and kill. No heroics, Adam."

"Understood," Ethan murmured, his eyes scanning the darkness with preternatural clarity. He could make out details that should have been impossible in this low light – the intricate carvings on distant headstones, the skittering of a beetle across a nearby leaf.

The hunt had begun hours earlier in the stuffy confines of their motel room. Ethan had surprised himself by identifying potential ghoul lairs with uncanny accuracy, his enhanced cognitive abilities processing information faster than he'd ever experienced before.

"They're creatures that feed on the dead," he'd explained, pointing to the cemetery on the map. "The concentration of decay, the isolation at night – it's perfect hunting grounds for them."

Now, as he navigated the graveyard with silent, fluid movements, Ethan marveled at how in tune he felt with his surroundings. Every sense was heightened, every muscle coiled and ready. This body – Adam's body, yet somehow more – moved with a grace and power that surpassed even his former peak condition.

A sudden shift in the air currents made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. Ethan froze, every fiber of his being alert. A shadow detached itself from a nearby mausoleum, moving with an unnatural, jerky gait that set off alarm bells in his mind. The ghoul.

Ethan's hand tightened on his improvised weapon – a sharpened iron rod wrapped in silver wire, its weight perfectly balanced in his grip. He tapped his earpiece twice, the soft sound deafening in the silence.

Moments later, a flare burst to life on the far side of the cemetery, momentarily blinding Ethan with its intensity. As his eyes adjusted with startling speed, he saw the ghoul's head snap towards the light. It was now or never.

Ethan exploded into motion, crossing the distance to the ghoul in a heartbeat. He drove the iron rod deep into the creature's side with a strength that surprised even him. The ghoul let out an inhuman shriek, its flesh sizzling where the silver touched. The stench of burning, rotting meat filled the air, nearly overwhelming Ethan's sensitive nose.

But the creature was far from finished. With impossible strength, it hurled Ethan backward. Time seemed to slow as he flew through the air, his enhanced reflexes allowing him to twist and land in a controlled roll that would have been impossible before.

The ghoul charged, its face a twisted mockery of humanity. Ethan sidestepped with inhuman speed, using the creature's momentum against it. In one fluid motion, he grabbed its arm, twisted, and flipped the ghoul over his hip with a strength that sent it crashing into a headstone with a sickening crunch.

Ethan followed through, driving his weapon into the ghoul's heart with precision. The creature convulsed violently, its inhuman shrieks piercing the night before it finally lay still.

Breathing hard, more from adrenaline than exertion, Ethan looked up to see Sam and Dean staring at him, their expressions a mix of awe and suspicion.

"What the hell was that?" Dean demanded, his voice a harsh whisper.

Before Ethan could formulate a response, his heightened senses picked up the sound of rapidly approaching footsteps from multiple directions. "Later!" he hissed. "We've got more company!"

Two more ghouls burst from the shadows, their eyes gleaming with hunger and rage. Ethan's mind raced, processing information at an incredible speed. He noted their positions, anticipated their movements, and formulated a plan in the span of a heartbeat.

What followed was a symphony of violence. Ethan moved with a fluid grace that belied the brutality of his actions. He ducked under a ghoul's wild swing, the displaced air ruffling his hair. Coming up, he delivered an uppercut with such force that he felt the creature's jaw shatter beneath his fist.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Dean grappling with the other ghoul, the hunter's face strained with effort. Without conscious thought, Ethan called out, "Dean, down!"

As Dean dropped, Ethan hurled his iron rod like a javelin, his enhanced strength and accuracy sending it spinning through the air with deadly precision. It struck the ghoul square in the chest, the sickening squelch of penetrated flesh audible even from a distance.

The cemetery fell silent, the sudden absence of sound almost painful to Ethan's ears. He could hear the rapid heartbeats of Sam and Dean, smell the adrenaline and sweat pouring off them.

"Okay," Sam said slowly, lowering his shotgun. "I think you've got some explaining to do, Adam."