A/N: Based on this supernaturalimagine Tumblr blog post:

post/62869348112/submitted-by-anon

"Imagine Sam, Dean and Cas meeting you for the first time."

I, Marie Griffiths, have a story to tell. And I doubt that anyone will believe me.

I moved to America in my early twenties as a journalism graduate from the University of Westminster, London. Headhunted from my post as a columnist for a well-regarded paper in the UK, I relocated to Philadelphia to write for the Inquirer.

While researching for my first article I came across something…odd. People were dying in unexplained ways and – the rookie I was – I decided to investigate. I was a good journalist. I had maps on my cubicle wall at work pinned with the locations of the deaths. I made lists of differences, of similarities between them. I'd worked out a possible…probable location for the next. And I hid there.

I hid in the dark, behind a pillar in a disused warehouse in the southwest of the city near the airport. Plastic sheeting hung from the ceiling in shreds and dark silhouettes of objects loomed. I removed my glasses and scrubbed them on the hem of my shirt. My Dictaphone was clipped to the side of my bag, recording…well, recording mostly silence for now, but I was going to use it to record…I wasn't really sure what.

A high-pitched scream pierced the cool darkness. There was scuffling, a single man being attacked by a single woman…so who was grabbing hold of my arm? My own scream died in my throat as a ridiculously attractive man leapt past me and launched himself at the pair. A serious, slightly confused looking man took hold of me as a third threw himself into the fray unfolding before me.

Before I was really aware of what was going on, a blade had appeared from somewhere, and the woman seemed to no longer have a head.

"Dude, I was coping."

"Nah, man. You needed my backup." The two who'd rushed into the fray wandered back towards me and the confused looking man, supporting the man who'd been attacked – he appeared to be unconscious, which was probably for the best. They were joking over his bowed head as if this was a perfectly ordinary occurrence. I raised an eyebrow at them – even more so when the confused man caught hold of my arm again and yanked me after them as they left the warehouse.

They unceremoniously dumped the man on his front doorstep having found his address on his driver's license. It was as though they'd forgotten about me, sat in the back of their old, decrepit car with the confused man. He was still grimly holding onto my arm, as though he expected me to vanish into thin air at the slightest provocation.

They got back into the car, but didn't turn over the engine. They twisted in their seats and looked into the back of the car.

"So…who're you?" The one who spoke had short, dark hair and startlingly green eyes.

"What does it matter to you?" I was extremely aware of my accent becoming stronger, more British by the second, as I tried to appear nonchalant. My attempt was failing miserably, even I could sense that, but still I had to maintain the façade. His eyes crinkled at the corners as he grinned.

"Nothing. Except we want to know who you are and why you were in the warehouse tonight." The other one spoke now, floppy hair a shade or two lighter than the previous speaker and eyes a shade more towards hazel.

"I'm a journalist…I was researching."

"Yeah…in an abandoned warehouse. In the middle of the night."

"Well if it comes to that, why were you there?" My line of argument was weak to my own ears and I flopped against the upholstery of the seat. I glanced at the floor of the car and let my head droop. I could feel their three pairs of eyes boring into me. "Fine. I give up. Could you let go now, please?" I shifted in my seat uncomfortably. "You're holding on far too tightly." The man let go of my arm with a surprised noise. "Thank you. Before I tell you anything, though, I want to know who you are." They exchanged non-committal looks and shrugged.

"I'm Dean Winchester, this is my brother Sam and…that's Cas." I blinked at Dean.

"And he's another brother, or…?"

"Nope, not a brother just…someone who tags along."

"Oh." It was the first thing I'd heard the confused man say, and I looked at him, startled. His voice was surprisingly deep.

"Ok…" I had always been bad at introducing myself. "Well, I'm Marie. Marie Griffiths. Hi!" I gave a little wave before I could stop myself and blushed painfully. Dean screwed up his mouth to stop a smile, but Sam just let it spread across his face. "So…why were you there? I mean, it's an odd place for me to be, but I do at least have a reason."

"Pretty much the same reason as you. We heard about the deaths, figured there was a vamp nest nearby, came to investigate and get rid of them." Sam trailed off as I held up a hand and shook my head.

"Did you just say vamps. Please tell me you didn't just say vamps. And if you did, say they aren't sparkly and somewhat...lame?" This caused a hiccup of laughter from the brothers.

"I…don't understand that reference." I glanced sideways at Cas.

"He's not from around here, is he?" The brothers shared a look of surprise.

"No…he's definitely not from around here." Dean spoke slowly, but not as though he was treating me as some kind of lunatic.

"So, vamps? Sparkly or non-sparkly?"

"Non-sparkly. Actually quite scary, if you're into that kind of thing." His eyes crinkled again as he smiled.

"Non-sparkly, quite scary. I can see that. So that's how you kill them? You cut off their heads?"

"How aren't you freaking out about this?" Sam sounded genuinely confused.

"Err, hello? Raised on Tolkein, Rowling, Lewis? The supernatural is practically my normal. Plus, I'm British. Even if I was scared you probably wouldn't know about it until…until I was so scared that I was unable to control my reactions."

"Ok, great. So now you know too much but we can't drag someone else into our shitty lifestyle. Dean, what are we going to do?" Dean gave his brother a scathing look.

"How about we ask her, bitch?"

"Jerk." Sam mumbled under his breath.

"Marie…as he said…you know what would be classed as too much information about the supernatural now…so you have two choices." I gave him my best school-teacher look.

"You mean I can choose to throw in the towel on my job at the paper and run away with you three on a wild whirl wind adventure around the country – which would, by the way, see my visa expire – or I can choose to go back to my comfortable apartment on the upper north side of the city, stay in my cushy job, and eventually be promoted to editor in chief?" He nodded mutely. I sighed. "Take me back to my apartment. I have some packing to do."