"Ready?"

The Father looked over at his daughter, a young woman who carried similar features that he had. She didn't look up at him automatically. The Father studied her as she loaded her hunting rifle, an old thing that it would usually take one years to learn how to load. It only took her five months. He was proud of her; being able to take care of herself in the supernatural world and all that. Not only that, but she would always remind him of his mother - strong headed, yet caring.

Finally, the Daughter looked up at the Father, their cool blue eyes meeting another as she cocked the gun, signaling that she was indeed ready. But just in case he didn't get the message, the Daughter gave him a nod and said,

"Ready."

The corners of the Father's lips quirked up before he leaned over to slam the trunk of the Chevy Impala shut. They then made their way up to the old, ruined house. It had been painted an ugly brown color, it's slates falling to the ground around it. The Family of Two made their way up the creaky old staircase. It seemed to moan and complain as their booted feet stepped on it's back and approach the rest of it's body. The Father and the Daughter leaned on opposite side from each other of the main doorframe, giving each other brief hand gestures, signaling and communicating to make a move into the house. The Daughter wrinkled her nose as she accidentally inhaled the scent of sulfur. Though she hunted for nearly her entire life, she knew that she could not get used to the smell of sulfur. She could only wonder how her father grew on the scent of it.

The Father kicked down the door, his gun aimed and ready to shoot at any enemy that would come at him. Nothing. Darkness had enveloped the entire house. It was only a sudden flicker of a candle light that broke that darkness and it had seated itself in the center of the family room. The Daughter frown gently as she placed her gun in aiming position as she made her way closer to the flame. The Father hissed at her, calling her name, demanding for her to be careful.

But she was careful...

Then in a blink, the darkness of the room was filled with light - like it had been basted in a heavenly light. And instead of the small candle flame from before, there stood a man dressed in black - as if he were dressed for a funeral. He was a balding man, though his hair hadn't been greying quite yet - it still had it's color of a chocolate brown. The man was aged and could've been estimated to be in his mid to late forties. A mischievous smile had been on his lips, his hands crossed in front of him.

The Father only knew who this man had been.

The name of this man whispered across his lips, "Crowley."

The man - Crowley - simply shrugged. "It's time."

Another blink of the Daughter's eyes and her father was dead.