Friday the 13th, 1985
Greg Lestrade looked quietly around the room. Blood was everywhere. Splattered across the walls, on the couches and chairs, and he was drenched in it. So was the man standing across from him who was holding a riffle which had just shot a creature which instantaneously exploded, its guts splattering everything.
"My girlfriend is going to kill me." He mumbled kicking a pillow and leaving a trail of blood.
"Quite your complaining idgit and help me clean up before it reforms." The man snapped back.
"Reforms!" Greg yelled. "It just exploded! How the bloody hell is it going to reform?"
"They do that sometimes," he said absentmindedly. "You should at least thank me you ungrateful git." He scratched his dark beard leaving blood on his chin.
"Yeah yeah. What the hell was that thing anyway?" Greg asked walking away to go get paper towels.
"It was a monster. That's all you need to know." The man said setting his riffle down along with hos baseball cap.
"I hunt things like that," he continued "Name's Bobby Singer."
Lestrade became a hunter after that night and worked with Bobby for a few years. Not many though after an incident in London made him retire hunting completely. That is until Sam needed him.