Chapter One: Matching Tattoos

March 2, 2013

I've been dreading this day since my mom got sick; she got terminal cancer and passed away two weeks ago.

Now here I am cleaning out and going through all her things so we can put the house on market. You could say my older sister Mary forced me into this job. Currently cleaning out an old box of books and ancient food and fashion magazines I come across an old dusty, but well kept, journal. Leather bound and filled from the top of each page to the bottom, words crammed together so tight and close, her handwriting a fast scrawl making it appear she was in a rush to write it down before she forgot.

I couldn't help skimming through the pages. Near the end of the book it seems there are tear stains, making the story and words almost illegible. I couldn't help to read and start from the beginning. After working on this task for three hours I was thirsty for a cup of hot tea and a good read…

June 5, 1986

Ah, June, the start of summer. I guess all the other girls my age were quite excited for the end of school. I on the other hand hunt monsters, ghouls, ghosts, ect.

Currently I've been on the trail of a Wendigo for the past two weeks. Living in the woods off of the small amount of dehydrated food and the small game I catch. It was calm and peaceful during the first week, being out here in the middle of the Rocky Mountains alone for two weeks isn't exactly the best time ever; I've gotten quite lonely.

Maybe whoever ends up reading this one day won't know what a Wendigo is, pretty much a huge bitch of a thing. Originally human till they go crazy, eat people, and become huge cannibalistic monsters. Super fast, super quiet. The only way for me to kill it is with fire. Guns are useless. And I was alone.

This is my first hunt on my own I was taking it okay, now not so much. I turned 18 last week, the 1st, and I finally convinced my parents to let me have this hunt. That I could handle it. I'm kind of rethinking this decision. If only I had a partner. Someone that new this job, knew the risks. Someone that was born into it, like me. Still though, even if it's the 80's and people have been hunting these devils for centuries, we are scarce to find.

I can't wait for this to be over. For my soft fluffy bed and pillow, no twigs in my hair or shrubs poking me in the tender parts of my back. A hot meal that isn't a skinny rodent.

The only noise I can make out right now is the slight rustle of leaves, probably a mouse, and the charms of my anti-possession bracelet.

This was a terrible idea. Why would I choose a Wendigo as my first one on one hunt? Why not a demon or vengeful spirit?

I should probably try to sleep, more tracking tomorrow. Four hours a night is wearing me out. I think I'll sleep for two months after this.

Till the next time I have enough energy to write,

-Castiel

June 7, 1986

This morning I found the Wendigos hide out, a gross damp underground mine shaft that goes right through and under the mountain.

Now to get down to business. Wendigos don't usually wander or look for food if they don't smell or notice tracts. Thankfully I've known how to hide my scent and tracks since I was ten.

I set up camp almost half a mile away from the old shafts entrance. Making my way there now, trying to be as quite as possible, ganking this beast won't be easy, I didn't really think much of how close I'll have to be to light it up till now.

Thinking I'm about twenty feet from the steep hole I re-descent myself, I cant get caught.

Crawling down the hole now isn't so bad, an often-used muddy rocky path. Perfect. This is going a lot better than I thought, it's so quiet, still only that small jangle of my hunter charm bracelet. It smells so fowl, like rotting raw flesh and old and new blood. I gag thinking about the group of hikers that went missing before I got here. Probably ripped apart or hung up alive somewhere so they stay fresh. That's what they're best at, keeping food alive for winter.

The smell gets stronger as I creep down the paths; I suppose I'm getting close now.

That's when I hear it, deep breathy huffs, right under my feet; the ground I stand on must only be a foot thick before the next tunnel. I automatically stop, I can here it breathing, smelling, and suddenly growling… Guess I've been found out.

Run. It's all I can think. My feet pound the dirt fast. The flamethrower on my back seems to be shoving me to sprint faster, I have no idea where I am, or where it is. But I can smell it. It's old rotten breath huffing calmly behind my back like it takes no effort to chase me. Adrenaline pumps at abnormal, unhealthy speeds into my veins but my blood has run cold. I no longer can hear it. Like it disappeared.

I slow down my speed, demanding that my heart eases into it's natural beat. It's still here. Watching me. I can feel the eyes on my back. Calm, I have to stay calm. Running out of energy to fast will slow me down, I cant afford that, I tell myself over and over in my head that I'm alright. I'll kill it and get out.

That's when I'm shoved roughly against the wall, flamethrower on my back popping my shoulder blade out just right. Wincing in pain I open my eyes to become face to face with the most hideous creature imaginable, giant and lean muscled it towered over me with hunger in its bulbous, bloody gold eyes. Slowly reaching for the weapon on my back, hoping the monstrous thing only five inches from my face wouldn't notice. Just my luck my finger nudges it away instead of closer. I can feel our breath mixing before my eyes. The scent of decay fills my nostrils and I'm gagging and teary-eyed all over again at this horrendous smell.

I guess it's crossing my mind that I'm done for, I'll be Christmas dinner. Wonderful. This isn't going exactly how I planned it I'll be honest. I didn't expect to get thrown into the wall with a dislocated shoulder and no way to reach my one and only useable weapon. My chest is heaving in panic, it feels at if I've been looking at its blotchy haired face for twenty minutes even though I know it's only been something like ten seconds.

I could try to run but I know I wont be able to run fast enough, it would catch me all over again. My face whips to one side all my hair going with it, I can feel the burn on my cheek. This damn bastard creature just slapped me!

This is it, time to be taken to the lunch room where a Wendigo with snack on my carcass. Being shoved more forcefully than needed down the tracks in the mine, I start to see light, like the exit out. I guess I went the wrong way when I came in. Maybe then I wouldn't have gotten caught.

And that's when it happens, the heat on my back like open flames. Then I hear it, the screams of the monster that was just escorting me to its lair. And I hear something else, someone shouting "DIE YOU SONUVABITCH!"? Who would be here? I didn't notice anyone, but maybe they're just as good at covering their tracks, as I am mine.

The Wendigo starts thrashing from the flames and soon crushes me to the hard dirt ground, and somehow knocking me out in the process.

I don't remember much else after that, just my vision slowly turning back and a deep male voice near my ear mumbling something like, "Oh shit."

Waking up in the passenger seat of a strange old 67' black Chevy Impala isn't exactly something an 18 year old girl should be go happy to see, but when you almost just got blazed to the ground along with the monster you were hunting, it's a pretty assuring thing that you didn't die thank god.

Leaning against the door and tucking myself a little tighter in the blanket I force myself to open my eyes and see who is driving, my head throbbing from the earlier blow and my eyes tired and glossy, willing myself to take a longer look than just the quick one earlier is rather hard, I've never been a morning person. And I can tell right about now the morning sun is shining right in my eyes.

"Okay, Cas. Open your damn eyes and see who is driving." I tell myself.

So…casually looking over under my shaggy messy dark hair, hands, muscles, broad shoulders, and this perfectly sculpted nose. Male. His blondish hair cut to the perfect length and his emerald eyes fixed upon the road.

His posture is lazy and relaxed and he sings quietly to Radiohead's Karma Police, his plush mouth forming the lyrics perfectly. Honestly he gives off the aura of not giving a shit about anything and a badass personality with a side of sassy sarcasm.

He doesn't seem to notice me staring, thankfully, I won't need to talk to him for awhile then. Looking back out the window I see a small town in the distance with a motel and old style diner. Food and sleep, some of my favorite things.

Suddenly remembering I forgot my things at my camp in the mountains I'm automatically alert. My gun and money are currently still in my cooler in my small tent. Shit.

"You have to turn around." I anxiously tell my driver, "I forgot all my things at camp. I can't just leave them. I have no money or my car keys." Wait…my car!

"My car. What about my car? I can't just leave it there! Listen, I really appreciate you driving me and getting me out of that burning mine shaft but I really have to go."

I can tell he's rolling his eyes in annoyance and shock at my sudden outburst.

"Don't worry about it, I packed up all your things at your camp. It's all in the back. I called a towing service to pick up your car this afternoon, they'll be bringing it to the motel we're staying at." he says calmly in a husky voice.

"Oh okay, thank you." I mutter in response. "I'm Castiel Novak by the way. And you are? If you don't mind me asking?"

"I know who you are. Your family is quite popular. Many of you and you all hunt a certain way; a lot of your kills are made with Angel Blades. You're fast and clean. And you all call yourselves the Garrison." he says confidently.

"Oh, I'm Dean. Dean Winchester. Maybe you've heard of me also. I fight messily and like guns." he adds with some humor, and his eyes crinkle with a small smile.

Isn't he just a funny one. I didn't know my family was that popular. Then again I've never met any hunters that weren't in the Garrison.

"Nice to meet you Dean, I've never really met any hunters outside of the Garrison. We have strict rules and one of them is staying with the group till you turn 18." I say while looking down at my wrist.

That's when I notice it, my anti possession bracelet is gone. Guilt pulses in my veins as I remember my father gave it to me before I left for this hunt. It was my mothers. Turning to dean I ask him if he happened to see it and pick it up, he replies with a "No I didn't, sorry."

"Can you stop at a tattoo parlor in town please?" I've just thought of the perfect idea.

Confused he says, "Yeah, sure no problem."

A tattooed anti-possession symbol sounds like a good idea, I can't lose that.

Stepping into the shop I take a casual look around, seeing a young girl a few years older than me, covered in tattoos, doing a skull-like design on a customers back. She seems good at what she does, the guys back looking extraordinarily close to the artwork she has pinned on the wall next to her.

Walking up to her and handing her the sheet with the symbol on it, she nods yes with a smile and asks me to take a seat on the over stuffed plush leather couch. Dean I suppose thinks the idea is a good one, promptly takes off his shirt and asks me if it would look good on his tanned chest. I can't help to blush, who asks that?

"Yes, I suppose it will." I point at his upper left peck right under his collarbone.

"Where are you getting yours done?" he asks, "I'm thinking next to my left hipbone." I respond cooley.

Getting a tattoo wasn't that bad. Barely hurt compared to a burn. Dean proudly walks out of the shop shirtless sporting the fresh black ink. I must say it looks good on him. And his company isn't so bad. Though he wont stop talking about how great the pie is at the diner down the street.

Making our way back to the Impala, I guess we were friends. I definitely prefer hunting with someone not as uptight and strict as the Garrison. Dean was happy, and he seemed free. Unlike me when I was back at home, tight schedule and none of my own choices.

He was cute too, someone that would look right passed my five foot four inch height, messy black hair, and bright clear blue eyes that always tend to come off cold and unhappy.

That's why I didn't expect the kiss when we got back in the car. It was fast, a small peck on my chapped lips. But his smell was intoxicating and I just pushed myself right back on his soft lips. Lips clashed against lips and teeth scrapped against teeth. It was messy, and hungry. My first kiss after my first hunt. And I definitely wouldn't mind the end of each hunt ending with this.

A/N Sooo I'm sorta kinda back. I just got the idea for this the other day and I guess it was good enough to post?

If you fucking bother me to update Love At First Sight? Yeah, right. I will cut your eyes out with sporks. Okay I'm working on it. I just recently got a new laptop, then I had to install Microsoft and I was lazy okay and I have a job. But I'm working on it now.

I'll try to update soon but no promises.

SUCK MY DICK.