A bit of gore in this chapter and the next. You have been warned.

You walked down the empty hallway. Sam and Dean's words were echoing in your mind, and though you didn't have any inclination to just go with them, it was lingering in your mind. You almost went straight by your chemistry classroom, and made a sharp left turn at the last moment. All of the heads in the room snapped over to you; clearly, the teacher was in a dull monologue. You continued to your seat quickly, taking out your folder and skimming the sheet you were supposed to have studied. B/F/N discreetly slid your homework over to you, and you mouthed thank you back.

"Y/N, thanks for joining us," the teacher said, raising her eyebrows. "You got your homework?"

"Yes," you replied, taking the homework over to her with an immense feeling of guilt since you hadn't actually done it.

"Well, you're just in time for the quiz. Alright, folks, put everything away except for a pencil."

You dug in your bag for your pencil, and when you lifted up to your desk again, movement caught your eye.

Walking by the classroom door and retreating down the hallway were the two men, Sam and Dean. Dean walked with an confident lope, while his brother had a shorter, quicker pace. You watched them until they had rounded the corner, feeling slightly uneasy. Of course, you'd never leave with them, but nevertheless you felt a pang of regret. What if they were right?

"Y/N! You've got to tell me now," B/F/N said once you had both changed into your gym clothing and were jogging down the hallway for indoor track. "What did the office want? Why were you there for so long?"

"Honestly, I don't really know," you said, uncertain. "There were two men claiming to be FBI agents because they wanted to talk to me. They were talking up all this hype about how I was really important and could win a battle against bad guys, or something along those lines. Almost right out of a movie. They wanted me to go with them so that they could keep me safe, or something."

"What did you say?" B/F/N asked as you both turned to run up the stairs.

"Well, I think I stuttered a lot, but basically I just told them no thanks and that I had classes to get back to," you said tentatively. "I don't know. It was weird. They must have issues with delusions or something. Either that, or they're messed up psychopaths."

"That's so creepy! What if they're stalkers?" B/F/N mused. "If you see them again, tell me and I'll come beat them up for you."

"Good luck," you said dryly. "They're both really tall. And muscular."

"Are they attractive?"
"They're like, in their twenties," you said, feeling apprehensive. "I suppose so. One of them had really nice hair."

B/F/N laughed. "They sound bizarre."

You laughed back, but as you and B/F/N jogged past the windowed entrance to the school, a black car caught your eye. It was parked inconspicuously in the parking lot, but it was a nice car, and inside were the two men - Sam and Dean. A feeling of ice plummeted in your stomach and you averted your eyes quickly, afraid that you would make eye contact.

"Don't look now, but that's them in the black car in the parking lot," you said in a low voice. "No! Don't look. When we jog back through here, then look."

B/F/N looked worriedly at you. "They are stalkers! Should we report them?"

"No," you said quickly. "They'll hopefully have moved on by tomorrow."

"How was your day?" your dad asked when you sat down with the rest of your family for dinner. "Learn anything new? Meet new friends?"

You dug into your broccoli, shrugging. "Nah. Nothing much happened." You didn't have the energy to explain the whole incident with the strange men; your mom would only be extremely concerned if she knew that two fake FBI agents were attempting to get you to join them on some sort of crack-induced adventure. Your sibling, sitting to your left, interrupted the conversation to tell about the school's basketball game that would be going on that night, and you took the opportunity to duck your head and continue eating your food in as inconspicuous a manner as possible. Anxious to return to your bedroom to do homework (well - probably watch an episode or two on Netflix, first), you finished eating quickly and stood to rinse your plate when there was a knock on the front door.

Your dad got up to open the door. A sudden pang of fear rippled through you instinctually.

"Dad, don't!" you cried out.

Your dad paused, his hand on the doorknob. "Don't be ridiculous. It's probably the neighbor coming with the money for the snow plowing."

"Yes, but…" you struggled for words. "There were two men who… had some things to say to me today and I think it might be them."

Your dad simply shook his head and opened the door. You twisted your neck to see, absolutely positive that it would be that Sam and Dean from school today.

To your surprise, it wasn't Sam and Dean. It was a middle-aged man with dark hair, a navy tie, and a black trench coat.

"Ah. 'Ello," the man said in a British accent. "Mind if I come in?" He didn't wait for an answer, but instead stepped inside, ignoring the surprised look on your dad's face. He turned to you, and you backed up quickly to the edge of the counter in your kitchen. "Hm. I expected you to be taller, Y/N. A bit disappointing."

"Who are you?" your dad asked roughly.

"My apologies. The name's Crowley," the man said, slipping his hands into his pockets. "How about a family meeting?"

Your dad contemplated the man, sizing him up, then stepped back. "What do you want?" he asked.

"Just a brief chat," Crowley said pleasantly. "Do you have any water, might I ask?"

Your mom, who had been standing a bit behind your dad, nodded and went into the kitchen. You made eye contact with her before quickly slipping out of the kitchen and out of sight of Crowley, whose eyes you could feel on your back.

Crowley.

The name was familiar. Sam and Dean had mentioned it earlier that day, when they were talking in the office. What was it that Dean had said?

"If we don't act, then Crowley or some other dickbag will, and they're not going to wait for her consent."

You glanced back at the hallway, where only the shadows of your parents and Crowley were visible. You pulled the slip of paper out of your pocket - the one that Dean had scribbled his number onto.

A nagging feeling tugged at the back of your mind that quite possibly Crowley was friendly, and that it was Sam and Dean that were potential serial killers. Yet you typed the number into your phone before closing your phone, so if necessary you could quickly call them. The ink on the paper glared, shimmering in the dim light of the hall. You had no intentions to call those creeps, but just in case they were right - you were ready.

"So you're from the school?" your mom was saying.

"Yes. Y/N is a sublime student," Crowley was saying. "I came to discuss a potential rigorous academic route for her."

You joined them by the front door, unconsciously hugging yourself tightly.

"There you are. Y/N, I came to discuss a possible opportunity for you."

You've never seen this man in your life, yet he knows your name and is claiming to work at your school. Your mind whirred, and you panicked, at a loss for words, unable to decide if you should blurt that out or play along to see what this man clad in dark colors wanted.

"I've got a pamphlet, of course, with all of the details, but to make the long story short, it's a year-long course in Nunavut that one student from each school in the state is permitted to attend. All expenses are paid by the school," Crowley said smoothly. "Your GPA and work habits indicate that you're an ambitious student. The other teachers at the school and I agree that for our school, you're suitable for the course."

Your dad finally raises his eyebrows in suspicion. "Why weren't we made aware of this through email?"

"The superintendent prefers to keep things dramatic, I suppose," Crowley said, pulling his hands out of his pockets to shrug. "Of course, I'd provide the more nitty-gritty information to you if you're interested - are you interested, Y/N?" He turned his dark gaze onto you unwaveringly.

"During the past couple of months, has anyone tried to… recruit you?"

Sam and Dean's words echoed in your mind.

"I don't know you," you said finally, flicking your gaze to your father. "Dad, he doesn't work at my school."

Your dad reacted quicker than you would have expected, whirling around to Crowley. "Who are you?" he demanded. "What are you doing in here?"

The front door suddenly slammed shut, without anyone touching it, and you flinched, backpedaling quickly in trepidation.

"Alright. I think we're done," your dad said, attempting to pull the door back open; however, it wouldn't budge. Your dad tugged at it, then turned around to stare at Crowley threateningly. "Did you lock us in here? Get away from my family! What do you even think you're doing-"

"My business is my own," Crowley interrupted quietly. "I promise you all that you do not want to cross me. Now, I'll ask again - are you interested, Y/N?"

Sam and Dean's faces floated into your mind. "But your life, and the lives of the people you love? They depend on whether or not you place your trust in us."

You shake your head violently, wanting more than anything for these strange men to stop trying to talk to you.

"Wrong answer," Crowley said, and he lifted his right hand into the air, then snapped his fingers.

There was the most minute of moments in which you felt utter confusion, and then there was a resounding crack that felt like a needle burying itself into your eardrums. Your dad instantly contorted to the right, the bone of his neck pushing against the flesh and popping purple veins against his skin. For one ephemeral instant, his gaze reached yours, and then the moment passed and he toppled to the floor, unmoving.

The sound that came out of your throat was half a strangled cry, and half a guttural scream. You collapsed to your dad's side, feeling for his pulse.

No. He's fine. He just sprained his neck - that's all. He's fine.

Your fingers brushed his neck and the exposed bone and bile rose in your throat. Vaguely, in the back of your mind, you could hear your mom's tortured cries, and could feel her falling to your side with you.

Your dad stared back up at you, his eyes fallen on you yet no sign of recognition was behind them.

"Hm. That was a rather nasty one. I apologize. Usually the bone doesn't come out that prominently," Crowley was saying, and you could hear your heart pounding in your ears as you felt yourself lunging forward and slamming into the man in front of you.

He snapped his fingers. He killed my father by snapping his fingers. He killed him. He's dead. The bone. The crack. The blood. The eyes.

Images of the scene were flickering in front of you rapidly, and all that you could think of was punching this man in front of you as much as possible - make him hurt, make him pay, make him feel some sort of the agony that was clawing its way out of you right now.

Suddenly, you were thrusting your fist at thin air, and you cried out in pain as your knuckles connected with the wall Crowley had just been standing in front of. The room suddenly tilted violently as though someone had knocked it to the side and you fell to your knees, clutching at the wall and vomiting.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, there was a repeated chant saying to get help, get help, get help, and while your siblings came crashing down the stairs, screaming at the sight before them, and your mother sobbed uncontrollably on the floor, and Crowley stood silently, watching the scene unfold before him, tapping his toe - you pulled out your phone and pressed dial.

"Call us the instant you change your mind, or the moment some other people that are less friendly start trying to recruit you."

The number you had typed in earlier began to ring.

"911 won't help," Crowley said, an amused expression on his face. "I already disconnected the station's phones. You think I'm stupid. Now, I'll ask you again." He paused for effect, and you didn't move the phone from your ear.

Come on, pick up. Pick up!

"Hello?" came the baritone voice on the other end of the line. Crowley stood expectantly, looking at you with raised eyebrows.

"Hello? I need help! Please, come, there's a man here and - my dad - he's on the floor, his neck snapped!"

"We'll be there in thirty seconds," the voice on the other end replied quickly. "Please come!" you begged, choking on your words.

Crowley's eyes narrowed and he snapped his fingers again; you winced, shutting your eyes, but instead the phone in your hand shattered into hundreds of fragments.

"No more phone calls," Crowley said firmly. "Who did you call?"

You could only shudder and taste the hot tears sliding onto your lips, blinking incomprehensively at your still father and then at Crowley.

"I said, who did you call?" Crowley asked, making a fist with his hand. An invisible force squeezed around you and you coughed harshly.

"I don't know, I don't know, there was a man at school today and he told me to call if someone came - I swear, I don't know him-"

"Was his name, by chance, Dean Winchester?"

You nodded, glancing back towards your mother and siblings, who were huddled on the floor by your father, looks of shock apparent on their faces.

"Damn him," Crowley said in a low voice, and in that moment the door behind you was flung open vigorously.

Sam and Dean, no longer dressed in suits, came sprinting into the door, guns out. You heard yourself shriek in fear and dove aside; a sudden gunshot rang out and you clapped your hands to your ears, tears running down your face as you curled up, landing in the pool of blood from your father's dead body.

Tbc