Fighter: Dean Winchester (REVAMPED VERSION)

dυвoιѕ нollow;pαrт тнree

The late afternoon sun dipped lower, gilding the sprawling grounds of Dubois Hollow in soft amber light. The air was rich with the mingled scents of earth, pine, and the faint sweetness of blooming magnolias. 

Camille led Nadia through the commune on the back of her horse, Charlene, whose steady hooves kicked up little clouds of warm dust along the narrow dirt path. Around them, the sounds of daily life filled the air—children's laughter, chickens clucking, and the murmur of conversations in lilting Louisiana accents.

Camille's voice rose above it all, her tone as honeyed as her Southern drawl. "Over here we got the residential homes," she said, gesturing toward a line of wooden cottages nestled beneath sprawling oaks draped in Spanish moss. Each cottage was framed by gardens overflowing with flowers, herbs, and vegetables, their vibrancy a testament to the community's care.

"These here are for the families," Camille continued, a trace of pride in her voice. "Ain't no fences—you'll notice that right off. Everybody's got their own space, but we keep things open. Tight-knit like that. We look out for each other."

Nadia surveyed the scene, her sharp eyes taking in the balance of order and rustic charm. The gardens were meticulously tended, the homes cozy yet purposeful, exuding a sense of harmony. It wasn't the polished beauty of a suburban neighborhood, but there was something undeniably alive here.

"Seems like a well-oiled machine," Nadia remarked.

Camille grinned. "It's home."

As they rode on, Camille pointed out the event hall, its weathered wooden beams adorned with twinkling fairy lights strung along the eaves. Long picnic tables, mismatched but sturdy, sprawled under the wide shade of an ancient oak. "This here's where we hold our gatherings—celebrations, council meetings, what have ya. Sometimes we throw parties for the kids or potlucks for the whole Hollow. It's the heart of the place, I reckon."

The air grew richer with the smell of freshly turned soil as they approached the farm. Rows of corn stretched tall beside patches of squash and beans. Chickens wandered freely, pecking at the ground, while goats grazed nearby.

"This is the farm," Camille said with a sweeping gesture. "My sister Bernice and her husband Ashton run it. They're the ones keepin' us fed, and trust me, they're good at it."

Nadia raised a brow. "What about the rest of your siblings? I'm guessing everyone's got a job."

"Sure do. Pearl's in charge of the schoolhouse—she's got a knack for teachin'. And Lawrence, well, he's head of security. Nobody messes with the Hollow while Lawrence is watchin'." Camille chuckled, her tone affectionate but firm.

Nadia nodded, absorbing it all. "Your family really runs this place, huh?"

"We do," Camille said simply, her pride understated but unmistakable. "But it's not just us. The elders guide the big decisions, and everybody gets a say. That's what makes it a community, not a monarchy."

They passed the infirmary, a sturdy stone building partially hidden by a tangle of ivy creeping up its walls. Camille motioned toward it with a tilt of her chin. "That's my domain. I went off to medical school, learned everything I could, then brought it all back here. Couldn't let all that knowledge go to waste, now could I?"

Nadia gave her a surprised look. "Medical school? That's impressive. Guess I didn't peg you for a doctor."

Camille's smile faltered slightly, her gaze dropping to Charlene's reins. "Didn't peg myself for one either, truth be told. When I was younger, I didn't wanna be a hunter. Hated the idea of spendin' my life fightin' monsters." Her voice softened, tinged with regret. "So I left. Thought I could carve out somethin' different for myself."