A/N: I know this is slow going, but it will get more action oriented soon.
Among hunters, the type of hunter one becomes known as is aptly decided by the quarry one hunts. Regarding the supernatural, categorically, are no different. Most of the hunters one would meet preoccupy themselves with killing the thing that got them into hunting in the first place- and that generally means killing the thing that killed someone close. All of that obsession with killing generally one to drink. So, statistically, any American hunter one would meet hunts monsters and when not following a lead is drunk off his (or her) ass.
Krissy Chambers and her father, Lee were lucky enough to avoid that fate, Krissy being to young to drink, and Lee needing to be a father kept him grounded.
They were also lucky enough to avoid the fate that met other hunters as well. A new hunter, still green, might think much of successful hunt of a wraith or Wendigo, but those creatures were preferable to the large amount of what lies beyond the unexplained disappearance of a camper, or weird lights in the distance. Ghosts, Demons, those things whose empty, seeming soulless eyes belied intelligence and a penchant for creative torture, and the hunters who spent time tracking down a vengeful spirit only to find cause of death was perfectly avoidable, or to track down a demon that had found a host that was bound to die after everything was over, or stumble upon what no human being was meant to know about.
Indeed, hunters generally found themselves meeting their end either through stupidity, the drink, burn out, or a few times, believing themselves the savior of a god forsaken world and needing to be put down themselves. After al, fanaticism was not unknown among their ranks.
So, Krissy should feel lucky. However, watching her father dress the wound given to him by the Rakshasa posing as a deliveryman just an hour before, while she swept up glass from the window smashed in the struggle, the Hindi spirit dispatched by a brass knob stabbed in its abdomen- Krissy's work. One and done, my ass, she thought ruefully.
It wasn't the Rakshasa that had her on edge though. Truthfully, what she had said to Dean Winchester had been a lie on its head. Getting out of the life? Not so easy. When you're burnt out, depressed, sure not going into work is as tempting as it would be at any other job.
But right now, at sixteen, having something like hunting made Krissy feel good. Smart enough to know that hunting creatures did little if anything to help anybody in any way, and patient enough not to go half cocked into a situation she couldn't handle, the longer and more complicated the hunter the better the reward.
Of course, she could never collect in person, rather she would send a tip to one of her father's contacts on a burner cell; sometimes nothing, a lot of the time the trouble had passed, but sometimes, just enough of the time someone would call back with how a spirit had been salted and burned, or how they wouldn't have found that vampire nest without her help.
Taking advice from a kid was no matter, as a hunter, anything offered for free was quickly accepted, so long as one remembered that things were oft too good to be true.
So it went without saying that the chance to go on a hunt without having to call in a tip, or a possible sighting, to actually look up a weakness was welcomed.
Krissy took her time of course; if she was right, what had, for all intents and purpose just fallen in her lap was not to be trifled with.
Now in her room, Krissy opened her laptop and queued up a search engine and typed:
Cambion.