Disclaimer: I do not own Supernatural or any of the characters on Supernatural, the story herein is strictly fictitious and from my own mind.

So this is my first Supernatural story and I'm not quite sure how it's going to turn out, so don't judge me too harshly! Also, it's been a long while since I've seen the first two seasons so I may forget some things. Enjoy!

The sound of the door opening in the foyer reached my ears, not a loud bang on the wall that the door usually made but a careful, silent squeak of the old hinges. Our house, an old farm house nestled in the center of four corn fields, had many quirks and creaky doors and windows and floorboards were just a few.

My mind, always a little bit more nervous at this time of night as I wandered around the kitchen gathering a midnight snack, automatically screamed at me to hide. I grabbed the butcher knife I had been using to slice off a piece of turkey from our dinner that night and backed carefully into the pantry, my eyes on the hallway the whole time. I quietly and carefully closed the pantry door but left a tiny crack to look out of, watching the doorway of the kitchen that led to the hallway where I could see the bottom of the stairway that led up to my parents room as well as mine and my big brother's.

Something, something I had never seen before, crept through my line of sight and I had to clap a hand over my mouth to hide the squeak of fear that crept up my throat. It was wearing a hooded cloak but the skin that I saw was pale and wrinkled and I felt a cold shiver run up my spine as my subconscious warned me of immediate and very real danger.

I wish now I had been quicker to take action. I swallowed a helpless sob as I saw it slowly begin to ascend the stairway. My mind was shrieking at me to do something, ANYTHING, but my body was frozen in place as I listened to the sound of creaking floorboards. I knew that it was at my brother's room when the creaking floor was silent and after an agonizingly long time the creaking started again and I knew it was going back toward my parent's room. When it grew silent again, my body finally responded to my mind and I slowly crept out of the pantry. Shaking head to toe, the knife in my hand feeling oddly heavy, I forced myself to the foot of the stairs and took a tentative step up, the squeak of the stair seemed to my frightened ears like a neon sign of my presence.

Somehow, God knows how, I made it to the top without alerting the creature at the top that I was there and I slowly approached my parents' room. Nothing could have prepared me for the sight I saw through that doorway and I will never forget it. The hooded figured was leaning over my mother's body and there was a strange sucking noise coming from it, my mother was twitching violently and her mouth was open in a silent scream and I thought I saw a silvery light coming from her and disappearing into the hooded face of the creature. My father was lying next to them and I felt bile rise in my throat when I saw his pale skin and the blank eyes staring at the ceiling with the horror of his last moments etched in his features. Something inside me snapped and everything became clear as day and I knew what I had to do. I crept through the doorway in a hunter's crouch, the knife gripped tightly in my right hand, and kept myself pressed close to the wall as I made my way around the room to get behind it. I knew I was too late to save my family and this knowledge just made my determination so much more firm. With a wild shriek of anger I threw myself right at the creature and buried the knife into where I guessed its spinal cord was just below the skull. I grinned in wicked satisfaction at the howl that issued from beneath the hood and I twisted the knife in a half circle which caused the howl to stop immediately and the figure went totally limp.

I stood by the bedside for what may have been hours, I'm not sure, with nothing but white blinding rage in my mind. When it finally faded, the situation hit me for the first time and I ran to my brother's room. His body was just like my parents, cold and lifeless. I closed his eyes to erase the horrible death stare from his handsome face and the gravity of my situation finally sunk in as I knelt next to my brother's body. I was alone. I had just witnessed the deaths of my entire family. And I now knew that the stories I had heard all my life about monsters and evil were true. And I knew I could not go on living the same with this knowledge.

That's how I became a hunter.

Strigas. I HATE Strigas! But, oh, how I loved to see them drop dead at my feet with my knife jutting from their bodies. This was no exception.

"What was that!" the frightened little boy I had just rescued asked in utter shock. I bent down and yanked my Bowie knife from the Striga's neck and wiped it clean with a rag before sheathing it.

"It's called a Striga," I replied, knowing there was no point in sugar coating it, "They're fond of feeding on children. Not too hard to dispose of though."

The boy just looked at me with disbelief and fear.

"Who are you?" he asked, "How did you know what that was?"

I shook my head.

"Sorry, kid," I said, heaving the Striga's body up to a sitting position so I could shove it out the window to be burned, "I can't tell you that. Just know that you're safe and there's nothing more to worry about."

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I sighed with relief when I finally plopped down on the lumpy, filthy, cigarette-scented bed in my dingy motel room and threw my duffle bag on the ground next to it. This was my least favorite time of the day when it came right down to it. It was now, when there was no more threat to a life, no more monster to track and kill, that my mind had to focus on other things. Things such as my past and the possibility of not having much of a future. A hunter's life is a lonely life and humans were not made to be alone.

Tonight the topic running wild in my brain was this: could a hunter like me with a long-forgotten-by-name, numerous aliases, and no real home ever be anything but utterly alone? Was I even a person or was "hunter" the only word that applied to me anymore?

I hated this one. This thought was the worst. Because it was one that I could never answer no matter how long or hard I thought about it. And I wondered if any hunter out there ever had answered it.

I knew I couldn't even stay the night in this motel room so I forced myself to get up and gather my few belongings together. I jumped up into the bed of my tan colored 1983 Chevrolet Cheyenne and opened the rusty old tool chest that sat behind the cab. I scanned the arsenal inside for any missing items or damage to any weapons. Seeing nothing wrong, I laid the Bowie knife in its spot and slammed the toolbox shut before anyone happened to walk by and snoop then jumped down and climbed up into the driver's seat, slamming the creaky door behind me.

I smiled at the sound of the roar of the engine when I turned the key. This was our old farm truck, I had driven it through the fields so many times when I was young and innocent. It had been used to haul hay bales, to retrieve deer during hunting season, making trips to the local feed store, and hauling the tractors out of mud holes during the rainy season. It wasn't shiny and impressive, but I kept it running like it was brand new. The sound of country music flooded the cab and I sang along with Kenny Chesney as I backed out of the parking spot.

My heart jumped in my chest when a black car came roaring into the lot and nearly clipped my back end and I slammed on the breaks just in time. I was panting with shock and anger at the close call as I threw open my door and jumped down to confront the idiot who almost damaged my baby.

With a look I knew would wither grass, I approached the driver's side of the black Impala as I now recognized it to be to put the reckless teenager in his place.

"What is your problem, leadfoot!" I growled as the driver's side door opened and a leg dropped out, I wasn't even looking at the face in the window I was so pissed. "Why don't you watch where you're going? You came this close to taking my back end off!"

A laugh. He was laughing at me! I saw red and clenched my fists in anger. Finally, the driver emerged from the car and I was a little bit softened when I saw how handsome he was. This was no teenager, this was a very large, very good looking man. But I shook that thought away and back to the fact he had nearly damaged my most prized possession.

"Keep laughing, see what happens," I threatened in a low voice.

"Calm down, I wasn't gonna hit you." He said, waving his hand in dismissal. He walked up to me and smiled a devilishly attractive smile, his large green eyes sparkling with mischief. "I wouldn't put my baby in danger."

I glanced behind him at the shiny Impala. 1967 model, I assumed from the look of it. I didn't blame him for taking pride in her.

"Well you could have fooled me," I hissed, still shaking slightly from the adrenaline dose I had just received. "What possessed you to tear in here like that!"

"I just really needed to take a piss," he said with a wink. I guess he really meant it because he turned his back on me and walked quickly into the motel lobby. I stood there dumbly, my jaw muscles twitching from unspoken words I was itching to yell.

I sighed and turned to go back to my truck when I heard the passenger door of the Impala creak open. I turned on my heel to take my unfinished anger out on whoever was foolish enough to get out at that moment. But my words didn't make it out of my throat because the figure that stepped out was the most beautiful sight I had ever seen in my life and I was stunned into silence.

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Well this is chapter one. It's not the best since I'm making up the plot as I go, but it will get better once I get all the characters introduced!

And this is not a Mary Sue, I promise. Give it a chance? Reviews are awesome!