A/N: Hello! I'm so sorry for the long update, but I was enjoying the first week of my summer break from school. Here is chapter number three! Enjoy!

I step out into the cold but fresh air and take a deep breath, relieved to finally be out of the hospital. I'm wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt; I was lucky to even find some clothes in the gift shop of the hospital, but I wish I had a jacket. While the winters here in Phoenix, Arizona are mild compared to other states, the cold really gets to you, especially when just under half the year is spent in the triple digits.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and dial a taxi, not wanting to go to any of my relatives houses; all they'll do is cry and mope and treat me like a three-year-old. Not that I'm not grieving for my parents too, I just think when things get tough, you just get your shit together and keep going.

These past four days in the hospital were hell. Not literally, but I was bored out of my mind. This stupid grief counselor came to see me every single day, and while she was nice, I probably know how to handle death better than most people. Several hunters went down on hunts that I sent them on, and there isn't a day that goes by when I don't blame myself for their deaths. But it gets better with time, and while my parents were obviously closer to me than any of these hunters, the pain from their deaths will fade with time too. I got several calls from crying relatives asking if I needed anything. But I hate my relatives. All of their added IQ's could not reach mine, and most of them are out of state anyways, so why bother, I don't like or need them anyways.

Yes, I'm sad about my parents. Yes, I cried myself to sleep every night while in the hospital. Yes, I will probably have nightmares about them until I die. But none of that is going to stop me from being who I am now: a hunter. I decided while in the hospital that I will travel and hunt evil, like the thing that killed my parents, in the hope that I can save other people from the ache I feel inside my chest from their loss.

The taxi I dialed finally shows up, and I tell the driver to take me back to my house. I have a lot of work to do, especially if I'm going to sell the stupid thing. There are just too many memories within its walls for me to call it home now.

After the short drive, we arrive at my house. I pay the taxi driver, and he drives off. As I turn around, I see my neighbor, Tom, standing on a ladder repairing the second story window the monster jumped through when it escaped.

"Hey Tom!" I yell up to him, "Whatcha doin'?"

"Repairing your window," he replies. I already knew that, i just wanted to make normal conversation after my four days in the hospital. "No charge," he says, "just consider it payment for all of the beers you dad gave me." Tom smiles down to me sadly before returning to his handiwork. "All done. Have a nice day Ken, and don't hesitate to come over if you need anything." Tom packs up his equipment and retreats back into his house before I can even thank him. I'm not complaining though; Tom's always been a little socially awkward

I walk inside my house, dreading cleaning the blood out of the carpet, but I am suprised when I find it squeaky clean. Not just the carpet, but the whole house. I initially put my guard up, because when the paramedics picked me up, there was blood everywhere; my parent's, mine, even the creature's. Then I remember that Tom's wife is the manager for a housekeeping company. She must have had some people come over and clean the house for me. I smile sadly and shake my head, chuckling a little from my good luck. I'll never be able to repay those two.

I take a quick shower and put on a baggy shirt and shorts, my version of pajamas. That way, if I fall asleep while doing what I'm about to do next, no harm done.

I pull out the organized folder of paperwork that I put together just in case my dad decided to go off-grid. He was always taking about it, and even had me and my mom put together a folder of people to call and things to cancel if we ever did. I just never thought I would use the stupid thing. I won't be using everything I put in here, but I will definitely use at least half of it.

I make phone calls to my school and other activities, saying that I won't be coming back, and probably never will. It takes a good few hours, seeing as I also have to call my parent's bosses and cancel their jobs too. But I also manage to get a few thousand dollars wired to their checking accounts, thanks to an "in the event of death" sub-clause in their work contracts. I also delete my many online gaming accounts, emails, social networking, and anything else I have on the internet that can allow me to be tracked. I do the same thing with my parents' stuff, including cancelling all credit cards. Luckily, we had just sent the bill paying the company, so I owed nothing, and everything went through smoothly. I shred every hard copy on me or my parents and wipe the hard drives of the other three computers besides my own laptop. I have to be careful about what I clear on that, seeing as I'm going to keep it.

I yawn, opening my mouth far wider than it probably should, and realize that I'm having trouble focusing on my laptop screen, so I decide to deal with my laptop and other things in the morning.

I trudge up the stairs to my room and plop my whole body onto my soft, cozy bed, not even bothering to cover myself with a blanket due to my exhaustion. Sooner than I realize, I fall asleep.

These past two weeks have been hell. I sold my mom's car and most of mine and my parent's possessions, and am up to my ears in paperwork. I haven't left my house in days, and am living off of MRE's, which really suck in terms of flavor, but at least keep me on my feet.

I roll out of my bed and all but drag myself to the bathroom for a shower. I woke up in a cold sweat from a nightmare I was having and couldn't fall back asleep, hence the shower. After getting out, I look at myself in the mirror, really look, for the first time in days. A teenager, about 5'8", with bright blue eyes and dark golden hair that falls to about mid-back stares back at me. Her face looks exhausted, and there are bags under her eyes from long days of work and short nights of nightmares, but her body is full and muscular. A large, black tattoo wraps around her left shoulder full of trees, the sun, and the moon.

I know it was foolish and stupid, but I got a tattoo artist to mix my parents ashes in the ink and put it on my arm. There are word my parents used to say hidden throughout it, and their faces are hidden in the trees if I look close enough. It cost me a fortune, but I won't be able to carry the ashes with me as I hunt, and scattering the ashes was too painful to even think about. At least I had the sense to put it in a place where I can easily cover it with a shirt, and I can carry my parents with me now, wherever I choose to go.

I finally managed to sell my house three days ago, and I've been cleaning and packing the guns and weapons into my dad's truck. I bought a case I can safely put in the bed to conceal the weapons without incident. The best part is, if anyone opens it without the right code in the lock, an empty compartment will open, safely concealing the weapons. Loading and organizing the guns and weapons into the box is hard and time consuming, and I can only do it if there isn't anyone around in the neighborhood, or they would probably call the police because people are stupid and afraid of guns. At least my shoulder is healed enough from the monster attack to do work now.

I'm sweaty and exhausted by the time I put my bow in the weapons box, the last thing I needed to put in, besides my .40 caliber handgun, but I'm keeping that with me at all times. I decide to go take a quick shower before continuing with my paperwork and packing a bag to travel with.

As I'm packing my backpack, I hear the doorbell ring. It could be the people who bought the house visiting again, or some friends here to wish me good luck and to say goodbye. I told a few friends that I'm going to live with an old relative in Alaska, and the story spread around like wildfire. I don't have many friends, but Alaska is more believable than hunting evil across the country.

I walk downstairs, and peer through the peephole to see who is paying me another annoying visit that's going to keep me from packing. I see two men, each six feet tall at least, and both wearing suits. That's weird. I threw the police off my tail by saying that a relative of mine came to stay with me until I'm eighteen, and even hacked their database and planted a fake relative just in case. And I don't have any friends that would wear suits, or that are taller than 5'10" for that matter. So that narrows it down to the local church or the feds. I am terribly hoping that these two are from the church.

I open the door and get a better look at my two unexpected visitors. The taller of the two has long, dark brown hair that reaches his shoulders and brownish eyes. The shorter of the two has short brown hair that kind of sticks up from his head and had sparkling green eyes. Both of them are very muscular, and green-eyes is standing slightly in front of sasquatch, suggesting a protective instinct towards him. I can see the outline of a pistol on both of them through their suit jackets, but I'm not scared of that, because I have one too. Both of them are tense, but not in a threatening way, more of a protective way towards each other.

They hold up their badges and green-eyes speaks, "Agents Barton and Smith, FBI. We would like to ask you a few questions about your parents' deaths if you don't mind."

I can tell that these two are not FBI agents. Sasquatch's hair doesn't meet FBI regulations, which I learned in my history class in school. Also the '67 Chevy Impala outside isn't an FBI sanctioned vehicle, which I learned at a National Security conference last summer.

But I decide to play along until I find out more about these two, but I know I have to keep my guard up because I know virtually nothing about these two.

"Yeah, sure, please come in." I open the door a little wider to let them in. I lead them to the living room, bare except for two couches. "Sorry for the lack of decor, I'm moving in with a relative out of state." Luckily, I managed to sell the couches to the buyers of my house.

I wait for them to sit before I do, Me on the couch against the wall commanding full view of the room, and the two of them sit on the couch opposite me.

"Since when does the FBI investigate break-ins and isolated murders in a relatively quiet neighborhood?" I ask, playing the dumb blonde card, my hair color working in favor for me. These two seem vaguely familiar, but I know I've never met them before, and if they're hunters, they aren't from my little community.

"We just go where they tell us," sasquatch replies. Whoever these two are, they have done this before, and are really good at concealing their body language. Even I can't get a good read on them.

Green-eyes' phone rings, and he excuses himself from the room to answer it while sasquatch asks me questions about sulfur and cold spots.

I have no doubt now that these two are hunters. The sulfur is a sign of demons and cold spots is ghosts. But I continue to play along until I know for certain who these two are. I'm only half listening to sasquatch's questions, because I'm listening to green-eyes' side of his phone conversation. Whoever he's talking to might give me a clue as to who these two hunters are.

"Okay, thanks Bobby," I hear green-eyes say, and hang up. I sift through my mental database of hunters for Bobby, and only two come to mind. One died four months ago, killed while hunting a wendigo, so its not him. The other is Bobby Singer out of Sioux Falls, South Dakota, and he knows everything about anything that goes bump in the night. Bobby has helped me find some lore several times since Garth got me in the business.

Sasquatch is asking me something; I've been searching for Bobby in my head for too long. "Ms. Black-"

"Please, call me Kendra," I interrupt. Even though I hate it, Ms. Black is infuriating, and I don't quite have a positive ID on these two yet.

"Kendra," Sasquatch says, "here's my number, please call us if you hear or think of anything else that might help us." He hands me a card, and I absentmindedly take it. He gets up to follow green-eyes out when it hits me.

There is a really good chance, in fact I'm certain, that these two are Sam and Dean Winchester. Their stature is right, they're amazing at their job, and they are on good terms with Bobby Singer, which not many hunters that know him can claim. They have to be the Winchesters, and if I'm wrong, oh well. If I'm right though, they could help me hunt the thing that killed my parents.

"You're not FBI," I blurt out.

They seem confused, yet surprised and startled by my accusation. Good, I'm right on that account at least.

"You're hunters aren't you?" I ask, rising off the couch. Sam and Dean both take defensive postures, as if expecting me to attack them. I stay relaxed, not wanting to startle them.

"How do you know?" Dean asks. I look at both of them. They both seem very uncomfortable with the situation, but I need to gain their trust if I want their help hunting this thing.

So, I decide to answer truthfully, "You know and are on good terms with Bobby Singer, your hair," I say, gesturing to Sam, "is too long for FBI regulations, the '67 Chevy Impala parked outside isn't an FBI sanctioned vehicle, and if you were FBI, the police would have already told you everything you need to know, thus defeating the need for you to come to my house and ask me questions." I pause, debating whether to tell them this next part. "Also, you two are pretty much famous in the hunter community for stopping the apocalypse. And I research for a community of hunters in Arizona."

They seem to relax a little bit. "Okay," Dean says, "But we have to make sure you're not a monster or something." He pulls out two different flasks and a silver knife. I know what they're for, but it doesn't mean I have to like it. Holy water for demons, Borax for Leviathan, and silver for a huge variety of things. Dean simply flicks the water from the two flasks at me, and lays the flat of the silver blade against my arm.

After passing all three tests, Dean puts the flasks and knife away, and the brothers almost completely relax.

"If you have any information about this thing that attacked you, it would really help us," Sam says. Now that I am a certified human in the hunter book, we all relax and sit back down.

I tell them everything about the monster, from how it looked, walked, and sounded, all the way to how bullets did nothing against it, but a machete did some pretty serious damage.

After I finish telling them my story, the Winchesters start to leave, but I want to help them find this thing. Yes, I want revenge for my parents, but the need I feel to help people and prevent this from happening to others is more overwhelming.

"Wait," I say as they start to walk towards their car. They turn back. I continue, "Let me help you with this." I just can't let them leave me behind.

"Kendra-," Dean starts to say, but I interrupt him.

"Ken." They look at me strangely, and I just shrug, "I trust you guys now."

"Okay, Ken," Sam says, picking up where Dean left off, " I understand that you want to avenge your parents, believe me I know. But you can't let this consume you." Sam looks at me earnestly.

"I don't want revenge, I want to protect people!" I exclaim. Geez, these two really know how to get on someone's nerves.

"Ken, we just want to keep you safe," Dean says, his eyes practically begging me to listen. On other circumstances, that might have calmed me down, but now it just provokes me even more.

"No! It isn't your job to protect me! If I stay in this house or with any of my relatives, I'll go insane. I have nowhere else to go but the open road, so whether you want me to or not, I'm going to hunt this thing down, and I would really appreciate your help." My rant over, I stand in the doorway breathing heavily, my blue eyes locked on their own green and brown. The boys seem impressed, and I sense a sort of non-verbal agreement pass through them.

"Alright," Dean says, "Come to our hotel when you're done packing and you can join in." He tells me the hotel and room number, and they both leave, the Impala's engine roaring away.

I close the door behind me, and put a new enthusiasm into my packing. If I hurry, I can get to the hotel by sundown. I finish packing my bag and the truck in a few hours, and throw what I couldn't sell in the bed of the navy blue truck to take it to the donation center a few miles away. I go back into the house to put on some more appropriate clothes for hunting. I decide on athletic pants (I hate jeans), a t-shirt, and my boots. As a last thought, I throw on the red and maroon plaid flannel my parents gave me last year for my birthday. Even though it isn't that cold, I just think it's humorously appropriate, considering I'm a hunter now.

I lock the door to my house for the last time, and climb into my dad's, now my, truck. I put the key in the ignition, hear the engine start, and drive off into my future.

A/N: Ooooh, a cliffhanger. Not too dramatic, but what the heck. I'm sorry for all of the exposition, but I promise you, the action should start in chapter 5. Please review, your reviews keep me writing! :)