Hey guys … I've had this idea in my head for a while so I thought I would play around with it :) Of course I started writing it during exam time … So updates might be delayed until they're over. Not smart thinking on my behalf. This is set around season 8 … Dean is out of Purgatory. It is focused on an OC character. Please let me know what you think!

Disclaimer: Only own my OC.

Everyone involved knows the hunting life isn't easy. Some people might pretend it doesn't bother them, or claim they've found something to ease the hardship. In others it is plainly obvious. But deep down, everyone is hurting. Some people move around, jumping from city to city in their hunt for cases. Others choose to stay in one place, simply dealing with the hunts nearby to them. There's always plenty of work wherever you go. Everyone always gets a case.

But in this line of work, there's always a cost. People are not machines. Witnessing the violent nature of the truth of our world has broken many people. Your sanity is affected by moving around constantly, not only to look for the next job but also to evade the law who think you're some sort of twisted freak. Little do they know, you're the one protecting them.

I was born into a family of hunters. My mother was killed when I was barely two months old, by a supernatural being that broke into my older brother Sam and my nursery. My father was left to care for my two older brothers and I. He made it his job to hunt down every monster that he could find, all the while searching for whatever killed our mother. Because of this, Sam, Dean and I would be left alone in motel's to fend for ourselves for months at a time. I didn't grow up with a mum and a dad. I grew up with two older brothers who I used to trust with my life.

Then, six years ago, I was woken up one morning to be told I was moving to live with my aunt, back in my birth town of Lawrence in Kansas. The only reason I was given was that the hunting life was not one for a child. And they had a point. Except I was never a child. I made my first kill at the age of four. I was forced to grow up in order to survive. So, at the age of eleven, I was sent off to some relative I had never met and cut off from everyone I held dear. They promised they would call every week. A week turned into a month and a month turned into a year. Now I haven't heard from them since my fourteenth birthday. I only know they are still alive through the idle gossip I get from hunters passing through. Unknown to them, I never gave up hunting. Once you're bought into a certain lifestyle, you can never truly leave it. It's engraved into you, forever a part of your being.