Disclaimer – I don't own anything, if I did things would be a whole lot more interesting believe me!

Chapter 1 – In the beginning

On my seventh birthday I was handed my first gun. Not plastic or fake. A real gun.

This may seem strange to some families but not mine – we were hunters. My father, brothers and I hunted and destroyed supernatural beings, and believe me, it wasn't pretty.

The supernatural gig all started when a demon killed my step mom Mary before I was even born. She was telekinetically held on the ceiling above my brother Sam's cot when he was just 6 months old. Then erupted in flames which set the entire house ablaze.

Tragically my father, John, saw the death of his much loved wife but luckily he managed to save the lives of Sam and older brother Dean. Even though he was only four Dean can still remember the orders his father gave him that night –

'Take your brother outside as fast as you can and don't look back. Now Dean, go'

After that night John raised my brothers as warriors, never letting his guard down. But two years later he met someone, my mother, Jane Owens. She was a nurse at some hospital in Missouri and met my father when a hunt got a little out of hand.

She and John got real close and she even helped him keep the boys when the social workers came for them. After that they were inseparable – John even told her the big secret. Now that's a big deal, believe me.

A few months later I was born. My brothers were ecstatic, my daddy thought of me as his baby girl and to my mom I was her beautiful daughter, and everything that was good and pure in good in the world was me. Nice huh.

Sadly I never got to tell my mom how much she meant to me or how I thought about her every day growing up because when I turned 6 months old the demon struck again. Just the same as before she was held on the ceiling then burst into flames and my father was unable to do anything but watch the traumatic event unfold. But this time he couldn't find the strength to run, he just stood there in shock.

It wasn't until Dean heard me crying that he came into the nursery and saw the horror before him. He was only 9 years old but somehow he managed to get dad out of the house while holing me in his arms, 5 year old Sammy right behind him.

In the weeks that followed dad was a mess. Dean single-handedly cared for us each and every day. Although soon Sammy got sick, he got a temperature and Dean couldn't cope, that's when Dad realized, we were his children, and we needed him. After that Dad nursed Sam back to health and raised us all like a good father should, but when we were each old enough we started training. The fight wasn't over and my family was after justice.

So when Dad placed the gift in my hands at seven years old I knew it was more than a gun. It was a symbol. I was to begin my part in the big fight, and I wouldn't stop until it was over.