(Just a few warnings. At the time of writing, the author has watched up to the middle of Season Seven of Supernatural. Also, it's meant to be an "Imagine If," so you are the main character and you can imagine yourself in the story.)
Imagine If – You're an emotion dead hunter because of your profession and you meet Sam and Dean, who show you how to feel again.
It had been just another ghost hunt. Simple enough.
After all, you just had to find and burn the bones, which was, again, simple enough. The crazy guy didn't know what hit him; at least, not until he popped up in front of you. After that, you just need to shoot him with the salt-filled rounds in your shot-gun, than toss the match down into his grave. He burned up faster than dry grass in a field fire.
You crossed your legs as you read the small newsletter on the counter in front of you. You took another bite of the French toast you had ordered, than took a sip of the coffee, resisting the urge to make a face from the taste before the feeling faded.
No. It wasn't a feeling. At least, you couldn't be sure. After all, what would you know what a feeling was? Sure you had some "gut feelings" that helped you on your hunts, but you didn't really…. feel anymore, did you? Not when people flirted with you, not when you questioned mourning wives, husbands, and children, and not when you had to shoot that-
No. You weren't going to open that can of poisonous snakes. Not here, not now; preferably not ever. You pause in eating to suck in a breath and let your mind go blank, erasing any bad thoughts before you continued with your train of thought, with less poisonous thoughts. At least you were doing that before a familiar name being mentioned caught your ear.
"Ronald Saliski? What kind of name is that? Anyways, where was he buried?"
You head snapped up slightly at the name being uttered by a deep voice. However, you didn't move your head just yet, so you didn't call attention to yourself.
"Rosalind Cemetery."
With that, you know without a doubt that they were talking about the very same ghost you had just bagged the night before. You turn your head slowly to look to to the voices, but not directly; just enough so you could look through the corner of your eye. At that, you raise your brow slightly, looking at the two handsome men not far down the counter. The shorter one, the one that spoke first, you realize, replied to the other, "Great, then tonight we can gank it."
You sigh softly as you contemplate whether to tell them and if so, how. You could straight up go walk to them and tell them, or maybe just let them figure it out themselves when they go to burn the body. Before you could decide, however, you catch movement in the corner of your eye. They were getting off their chairs and walking towards the door.
Before you could stop yourself, you pull a twenty and a ten, for the meal and cups of coffee, place them on the counter and slip off your own chair, following them just as they open the door. You don't know what compels you to do it, but you slip out the door, trying to look as inconspicuous as possible as you walk after them. Thankfully, the town is a busy place, so there are plenty of people walking past you to try to blend in with.
You follow them a bit down the street, your attention pretty set on them, though in the back of your mind you curse at yourself a bit for being so rash. You want to stop and actually think on it, but a few people get in your line of sight to the two men and you pause as you realize that you've lost them. You huff and frown, gripping the strap of the laptop bag you had across your chest before you continue to walk forward, much slower this time; might as well make your way back to your car.
As you pass by an alley way, it seemed like the amount of people on the street thinned considerably, though you don't really notice until the hairs on the back of your neck stand up and you react before thinking, quickly spinning around and raising your arm to block a grab to your shoulders. Your eyes widen as you realize it was the shorter of the two men you were following that was attempting to grab you.
You wince as he grasped your arm that you had raised, pulling you into the alley and behind a dumpster before you could try to resist; he was stronger than he looked. Your free hand immediately went for the gun under your jacket as you trying to pull away from him, only to freeze as you hear a distinct click behind your head, then the cold end of a gun pressing against the back of your head, "Why were you following us?" Well, you know where the other man is now.