Hey guys. So, I've been writing a lot of chapters that I plan on posting much later in the future. I've been doing a lot of planning for the future of this story, and I'm super excited about it. I honestly think I've written more words in the last few weeks than I have for the entire story that I've posted so far. A lot of really long chapters full of detail and just awesomeness are coming. For now, I hope you enjoy this chapter and remember to review!

"Dean, I seriously need your help on this hunt. I can't go alone," Sam says one day, I believe it's Tuesday, sometime in mid September.

I'm sitting at the table, on my computer. "I can't leave Skylar here by herself," Dean protests.

"I could always come with you," I suggest hopefully.

"No!" both of the brothers say sternly at the same exact time. I shrug. It was worth a shot. "The last thing we are going to do is put you in danger," Dean says.

"Well, according to the Supernatural books, being around you guys is dangerous enough. I'm guaranteed to die twice by the time I'm 30," I say, shrugging.

Dean rolls his eyes at that, but he doesn't say that I'm wrong, which is enough to scare me just a little. "Here is the safest place for you," he says simply.

"I know. Still, you couldn't blame me for wanting to come," I say, shrugging. I don't even try to win this argument. I know a lost cause when I see one, and there's no point in pursuing something you'll never get.

"Yeah, we actually can. Why in hell would you want to come on a hunt? They're dangerous and you could easily get hurt if you didn't know what you're doing," Dean says.

"I've always dreamed of going on a hunt with the Winchesters," I tell him, and I really have. What could be more fun than going on a hunt with the two most talked about hunters in the whole US?

"You really are crazy, aren't you?" Dean asks.

"Just a little," I say, a big smile on my face.

"You know, if you want to help, you can always help with research," Sam suggests.

That suggestion brightens up my day by five hundred percent. Dean has to think about it for a second, but eventually he sees no trouble with it. "Okay," he agrees.

"Can I come with you guys? Like I won't go with you to the actual hunt or anything but can I at least get out of the bunker?" I ask them.

Sam looks to Dean for the answer. Dean has to think about it for a while, but he does make a good decision. "If you can show me that you hit a bullseye nine times out of ten on the throwing board with knives, you can come-but not hunt," he determines.

All I can think is that my moment has come. Even though I have been a little bit obsessed with my computer for the past couple weeks, I have been practicing my knife throwing just as much, if not more. I've gotten much stronger since I first started-and much better. "Okay. Let's go," I say, and we head down to the weapons room. I get ten throwing knives and line them up on the counter in front of the target.

Dean and Sam watch me closely as I throw each knife. The first one, I made right in the head. The second one and the third one go the same way. I almost see a glimmer of something in Dean's eyes-he almost looks proud of me. But I quickly dismiss the thought. I can't let that thought slip into my mind-even for a second.

I don't miss any until the sixth. I nearly stab something because I'm so pissed off about the sixth one missing the heart by five inches. I was aiming for the heart, but it missed by approximately five inches. I should have just stuck with the head. I'm much better at throwing up. Yes, I do realize how that sounds. Unfortunately, it took me too long to realize that. I had to go on Tumblr for ten minutes after writing that before coming back and realizing how that sentence sounds. So, I'm not changing my wording. You guys know what I mean.

The seventh, eighth, and ninth are all perfect shots, despite the fact that I'm a little shaken up from the miss on the sixth shot. The tenth shot is when I'm really nervous. Screw up on this one, and I can't go. But make it, I can go. I prepare myself for the final shot, ready my arm, and let the knife fly. It doesn't even hit the target-it is less than a centimeter away from the head. I can't believe it-I missed.

I know that Dean's not going to let me go just because of that last miss, and I'm really upset about it. But, instead of making his final decision, he hands me a gun. "Shoot ten times," he tells me.

I pick up the gun, a little skeptical and nervous. I'm much better at throwing knives, but a gun really does most of the work for you, so that's a little reassuring. I try to keep myself calm as I shoot at the target. I go quickly, and fire rapidly. One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten times. Each one hits the head, the heart, or the neck. Every single shot is fatal. I mean, most of them aren't spot on to where I want them, but they are all fatal.

Dean holds out to me a large, sharp, and jagged knife with a wooden handle. The blade itself has a few symbols carved into it. "Throw this," he commands. I take the knife, and it's surprisingly heavy. I knew it was going to be heavy just by looking at it-but it's a lot heavier than I expected when I actually hold it. I don't know how good I'm going to be at throwing this, but I know that I can't miss with this. I'm lucky just to get as many chances as I am-I screwed up already.

I measure the weight, and ready myself to throw it. I know this is going to take strength-and that I need to focus on that more than anything. I move my arm back and then, with as much strength as I can muster, force it forward, letting go of the knife at the perfect moment. It hits right in the heart, which is where I was aiming. Sam's really impressed, and Dean has a perfect poker face.

Dean grabs another large knife-one completely made out of a silvery metal. It's rather regal, and beautiful. It's not jagged like the one I just threw, but more graceful and enchanting. "You know what to do," Dean tells me, handing me the blade.

When I get the blade, I'm surprised by how light it is. This is not what I was expecting-I expected it to be at least as heavy as the knife I just threw. This one feels like it's practically made out of some sort of aluminum alloy or something. "What kind of knife is this?" I ask Dean.

"We stole it off an angel," he explains. Okay, well that makes a bit more sense. I'm a little shocked that I actually get to hold one of these, mostly because I've heard so much about them. Angel blades are a pretty big deal-because they're from angels. They were made in the forges of heaven. What's more impressive than that? And now, I get to use one for target practice.

I'm almost so awed by the blade that I don't take the time to prepare for throwing it. I'm aiming for the neck-right where you would slit someone's throat. I know that this blade will pierce through there if it's on an actual person, and come out the other side. "I'm aiming for the neck," I tell them. They basically ignore me as I ready myself. I'm not focusing on strength-but speed. I bring my arm back farther than I did with the other knife, and thrust my arm forward with breakneck speed. The blade flies even faster than I thought it would, and hits the target within half the time it takes a person to blink.

I look back at Dean when it's over. He still has a poker face, and that worries me. He's really intimidating me, for the most part. It's a little scary, especially because I know the kind of thing he's capable of. Eventually, though, that piercing stare turns into a warm smile. "You can come with us," he says, making that his final decision.

"Really?" I ask, barely believing it. I get to come with Sam and Dean Winchester on a hunt-even if I don't get to hunt. I still get to come with them and be a part of the team. That feeling is just greater than anything I've experienced before. The feeling of being part of something great and bigger than yourself is just awesome. There's no better way to explain it. Knowing that you've done something to be part of something great-knowing that you proved yourself-it's incredible.

"You certainly deserve it. You can throw knives better than I can-I'm better at close range stabbing," Dean says, which is the greatest compliment I'd ever received. Even now, it still is one of the top compliments I've ever gotten.

"Thank you," I say, and wrap my arms around him. Dean's surprised at first-but then relaxes after a couple seconds. I honestly now think that he appreciated that hug.

When I let go of the hug, which doesn't take long, Dean's smiling like a proud parent or something. It's rather endearing. "Go pack. We're going on a trip," Dean says, like he's telling a child that they're going to the grand canyon or something. I run to my room and pack a few things in my duffel bag-super excited for the next couple days.