Supernatural One Shots

Imagine...being a hunter and teaming up w/ Winchesters

The Winchesters... You'd heard plenty about them in your time as a hunter. Not necessarily the good things as the info was received from demons you were set on slaughtering.

They opened up the gates of Hell, started the apocalypse, let loose those God damn Leviathans. Well, that wasn't actually them. It was some Angel they rolled with, set on becoming the new God, but still.

Was teaming up with them something you looked forward to? Not really. But Garth had promised that they were the greatest guys he'd ever come across and with Garth being the greatest guy you'd ever come across, you agreed to go. God knows you'd need him for a favor in the future.

You pulled up to the motel, your temporary stay, taking a look at yourself in the mirror. The hair-bow you had constructed earlier that morning looked a bit on the slanted side, so you fixed that up quickly before getting out.

You didn't know what you liked about hair-bows so much. Maybe it was the way you could fool people so easily with it. For some reason, seeing you with that hairstyle always made people assume that you were some weak, girly girl, which you used to your advantage. It was all "hey pretty lady" with hands on your hips until, you know, you hustled their money, sent them back to Hell, or sliced their heads off.

It was always a euphoric feeling, seeing their eyes widen with revelation just before you bid them their fate.

So when you knocked on door number seven, you weren't surprised to see the wide green eyes of the one you assumed was Dean.

"You Dean?" You questioned, observing him from head to toe. He was pretty enough. Broad shoulders, smoldering features, a jaw line so sharp it could slice through rock and solid emerald eyes that just tied it all together.

"Yeah.. (Y/N)?"

"Yep." You popped the "p" at the end, brushing your way past him and into the small motel room, made to look minuscule with the giant man planted in a chair that you were surprised hadn't broken.

Sam, you figured, stood up, running a hand through his luscious brown locks, offering you up a dimpled smile and a whispered "Hi," the multicolored plaid shirt he wore, hugging him in all the right places.

"So, Garth says you two need help with a shifter?" You made yourself comfortable on one of the beds, taking a residing folder as your own and sifting through each piece of evidence, scanning over the scenario you'd seen countless times before on cases like these. The victim was tied up, beaten, maybe left for dead. Said husband/boyfriend did it, although witnesses say said boyfriend/husband was at work the whole day and or night, leaving the rookie FBI Agents stumped, scratching their heads like the inexperienced assholes they were.

"No."

"Yes." The two brothers spoke at the same time, you, looking quickly between them, debating on who you should listen to. Mr. Green eyes over there was the one who murmured the "No."

"Well if no, then what the hell am I doing here? If yes, what shit do I need to take care of?" You set the folder down, crossing your arms. By the look on Dean's face, you knew calling in a third hunter wasn't his idea, which you understood completely. Nothing worse than getting a noob hunter that screws everything up. You'd been down that road many a times.

"It's.. It's yes. We need you to help." Sam said, Dean rolling his eyes over in the corner, sipping on his beer.

"Alright.. What's up with the fucker? Is it giving you trouble or?"

"Not necessarily giving us trouble.. Here." He handed you a second folder, the front plastered with the town seal.

"We're thinking that there's two shifters."