I'd never led a simple life. At age four, I'd lost my dad in a boating accident. And my mom was never the same. I had to grow up and take care of her on my own at that age, because she was brought to the point in her depression where she just wasn't sane anymore. She passed away when I was thirteen, and I went to live with my uncle Bobby Singer. And that's when I got into hunting. Across the street from Uncle Bobby's Salvage Yard was Harvelle's Roadhouse, which was a but of a sanctuary for hunters. No, not your average deer and bear hunters. I learned to hunt demons and spirits—from the best hunters in the world, too. And that was when I met John Winchester. For all intents and purposes, he became my mentor; my teacher. Essentially a father figure. Took me under his wing at the age of fifteen, and taught me everything he knew about hunting. And I learned quickly. I dropped out of school at fourteen and started to teach myself out of books and from my uncle and John's friends. So, maybe I wasn't the smartest woman in the world, but I certainly knew how to protect myself against an evil spirit. I don't know how many fourteen year olds could say that.

John was pretty much my hero in every way. Strong and smart, and god did he adore his two sons. Little Sammy and Dean. He wanted them to grow up and be hunters and...I had yet to meet them. But when I was sixteen, I got a call from John, telling me that Dean and I were supposed to be partners. That he'd left Sam with the neighbor family...the Fabrizzio's or something. That I was supposed to go from being partners with John—the most experienced hunter I had ever met, in my life, to his son, since John was 'previously indisposed.' And while I was nervous, he said that if I was with Dean, I was in capable hands. I knew that John would never guide me into a situation that I couldn't handle, so I went along with what he told me to do, driving to the place he'd told me to meet up with Dean in the bright blue, '69 Mustang that my Uncle Bobby had fixed for me. I caught a glimpse of him and stifled a laugh. He was standing there with a confused look on his face. I smirked and shook my head. Not at all what I'd expected when John described him to me, I'll admit that right away. I pulled up to the curb and turned off the engine, then got out of the car slowly. "Dean Winchester?"

He turned his head, and...up close? Holy shit, he was gorgeous. Though he was sort of acne-faced. But at sixteen, that was normal. He had these beautiful green eyes that were just...easy to get yourself lost in. I reminded myself to be careful as he showed me a skeptical glance. "Who's asking?"

I chuckled. At least he'd learned the first lesson that John had taught me. Do not give out your real name unless you're totally sure who you're talking to. I approached him and extended a hand. "Grace Desrosiers..." I told him, a smile crossing my face as he dropped one of his bags and accepted my hand.

He used his other arm to throw his duffel bag even farther over his shoulder. He gave me a strange look, like he expected me to look or be different, and I smiled at him. That was a common reaction among hunters. They saw me, that I was a woman and that I wasn't six-foot-four, leggy and a Buffy the Vampire Slayer clone, and they automatically thought that I couldn't be a hunter. Not John, though. He always had so much faith in me. "You're Grace?"

I rolled my eyes. "Yes. I'm Grace. And if you're going to be like that, you can explain to your father why you're still sitting on an Iowa sidewalk tomorrow morning..." I told him, crossing my arms. "However, if you're going to be human about this? The passenger's seat of my car is looking for an ass to sit in it..." I nodded toward the car and picked up the bag from the floor, unlocking the trunk. "The way I see it? We're stuck together like a married couple, because your father won't have it any other way. So, why don't we try and make the best of it, and get along..."

He was quiet for a second, then grabbed his other back, presumably filled with clothes, and tossed it into the trunk, where all my weapons and my supply of rock salt were. "So...how close are you and my dad?" he asked me, walking over to the passenger's side of the car and opening the door.

I had figured that he'd want to know all the details about how close I was to John. But John had told me not to tell him immediately how much he'd trained me, because Dean would think he could slack. 'It's better for him to presume that you're inexperienced, so he doesn't get too comfortable,' he'd said. So, I did as I was told, as I always did with John. "Close enough," I answered simply, and sat in the driver's seat, turning back the key and smiling as my Duran Duran tape blared through the car. I had always liked eighties music. Never really fell out of it.

Dean turned and glared at me. "What the hell is this? Don't you have anything like...I don't know, Pink Floyd? Or like, the Who? Or anything other than—whatever this is?" he asked with an incredulous look in his eyes.

I chuckled lightly and shrugged my shoulders. "Rule number one, Dean, my friend. Driver picks the music, shotgun shuts his cake-hole," I told him simply, rolling the windows down and taking in the feeling of the fresh, crisp night breeze on my face. I glanced at Dean, who was simply staring out the window in disgust. The guy probably thought I was a prissy little princess, who would run away at the sight of blood. Boy, was he in for a surprise. I leaned toward the radio and turned the music up. "You know...I bet you could even grow to like this music, eventually," I said as I leaned down to turn the music up.

I heard him scoff. "I doubt it. I'll probably throw myself off a cliff before I get the chance to like it..." he said as he reclined the seat, trying to relax a little bit. "Can you turn it down?"

I chuckled. Yep, he had John's stubbornness. I decided not to give him the 'my car, my rules' speech, since it was our first day traveling together, and let him sleep. I leaned over and turned the music down, though I was hesitant, as it had just turned to my favorite song. He was just lucky that I was in a good mood. I watched him cover up with his jacket and took a mental reminder that this was John's son. And that, though he was an experienced hunter, John told me that he had not given Dean the training that he gave me, because he believed that his son wasn't mature enough for it, and some things, Dean would need to learn on his own. I had never mistrusted John Winchester before. And I figured that now wasn't a good time to start.