By the time interview day entered its third straight round, the old staff had developed a new problem:
they were no longer impressed by normal things.
Not properly.
Not in the healthy civilian way.
A candidate would come in with an excellent résumé, five years of café experience, food handling certifications, two glowing references, and Nina would look at the page, nod politely, and think, Yes, but have you ever lied to a customer while there was demon blood drying behind the storage door?
Another applicant would list advanced mechanical diagnostics, restoration work, specialized welding, and strong conflict resolution, and Marco would lean back in his chair and think, Wonderful. But if Vlyluna comes in and says, “Close Bay Three and do not open the west gate no matter what it sounds like,” are you going to listen or become a statistic?
That was the real damage of working for the Winchesters for too long.
Mundane excellence no longer felt complete.
The old staff had spent enough time adjacent to monsters, ancient marks, angelic nonsense, hidden weapons, emergency cover stories, and deeply unreasonable family love that normal workplace qualifications now seemed… thin.
Not useless.
Just incomplete.
By Tuesday morning, Nina had rejected three strong café applicants because they said things like “I thrive in fast-paced retail environments,” which would have sounded impressive six months ago and now only made her tired.
“You thrive in muffin rush,” she muttered after the third one left. “That is not the same thing.”
Marta, sorting interview notes into three piles labeled usable, maybe salvageable, and civilian, nodded without looking up.
“None of them understand the difference between pressure and danger.”
“That’s because they’ve had normal jobs.”
“Unfortunate.”
At the workshop trailer, Marco had reached the same emotional conclusion through different means.
A very solid mechanic named Aaron had just finished describing his ASE certifications, his previous experience in high-volume repair, and his confidence under emergency turnaround schedules.
Marco listened.
Nodded.
Respected it.