Your house was filled to the brim with the most unique collection of items. Pieces that had only been whispered about. Most of them you sold, some for even millions of dollars. Others, you kept, decorating your home with talisman's that brought you luck, or good fortune. A select few you kept close to you, giving you comfort that if things came after you, you were safe.

But there was one item that you had never been able to get your hand on. It had been nothing more than a myth, stories passed down for centuries. Of a wicked looking blade that killed any sort of mythical being, including Knights of Hell. It had never been seen, not since it had been in the hand of Cain himself, and it was the one item that you had always wanted to find. Who knew how much someone would pay for that if you could force yourself to part with it. If you could ever get your hands on the ancient relic.

You had almost given up hope until a couple of weeks ago. After almost getting trapped in a cave for an ancient Celtic protection charm, you had been ready to head to the Bahama's for some rest and relaxation. You had made quite a bit of money off of that last find. Enough that you could spend the next couple of months doing whatever you wanted.

And at first, nothing had sounded better than sun, beaches and pina coladas. But once you had heard of the first blade making its first appearance in centuries, it was all you could think about. You wanted it. No needed it for your collection. You already had the perfect spot for it, secure enough that no one would ever be able to lay a hand on it.

It was frustrating. Knowing it was out there, but not knowing exactly where it was. You had to stay patient, researching. You dreamed about it, seeing it in the hands of this man. His grip was tight, his shoulders strong as he easily sliced and killed with the powerful blade. His eyes were a brilliant green, his features strong and handsome. He was almost as mesmerizing as the blade in his hand, and you wanted to know more about this mystery man. Who he was, how he was capable of wielding the most powerful weapon in the world.

With little else to go on, you began searching through newspaper articles for bloody, horrific deaths. You knew the blade controlled those wielding it, making them do horrific things. It didn't take long before you began to find a pattern of bloody deaths in the midwest. Never a mention of your mystery man. But you had it narrowed down to a small part of the country, mainly around Kansas.

Packing up your suitcase with wigs, weapons, and spells, you slid behind the wheel of your sleek, cherry red Porsche, pointing it west, settling in for a long car ride.

As the night sky blurred above you, your phone dinged, another notification of the first blade's destruction, you realized you were only an hour away from the bloodbath. With the speed of your Porsche, you could probably make it in half an hour and maybe even find the guy from your dreams. If he existed. You hoped he did because you couldn't wait to meet the man who could wield such power. And the collector part of you wished that maybe he could become part of your collection as well.

While you wanted to head to the crime scene right away, you had to keep your priorities straight. Stopping at the only five-star restaurant in the small city, you booked the suite. Touching up your makeup, you changed your jeans for a black pencil skirt. A white blouse and black blazer completed the look, along with your fake FBI badge. Hunters weren't the only ones who dabbled with false ID's.

The crime scene was mostly clear. A cop car was leaving just as you pulled up, but another car was still parked in front. A long, black classic muscle car. Running your manicured fingers along the gleaming paint, your heels clicked as you walked up the sidewalk.

Without knocking, you stepped into the shabby apartment, immediately getting taken back by the mess in front of you. Sure, you weren't a hunter, but you had been raised by one. You had seen many things in your life, but this might be the bloodiest. Bodies lay everywhere, covered blood and things you didn't even want to try to name. Dark red blood covered everything. The walls, the floor, the windows. There was five, no six bodies in the main room, carved up by a wicked blade. A blade you had dreamt about for so long. Your hands just itched to wrap around it. You were so close, you could feel it. The power of it.

"Can we help you?" A deep, rumbling voice called out, pulling you out of your daydreaming. "This is closed scene."

You pulled your badge out of your pocket, flashing it in annoyance. "I'm Agent Larsen. I've been called to this case."

"Hmm, so have we," the voice growled low in his throat, and you finally glanced up. Freezing as the vibrant green eyes from your dreams stared down at you.

"You're...," you stuttered. It was rare that you were speechless, but you had never expected this man to be real. He was even more handsome than you had dreamed. You were rarely caught speechless, but this man had done it with only a glance.

"Do I know you?" He asked, his voice as strong as steel, a cold glint to his eyes. A normal person would have taken a step back, instantly cowering under the hint of violence in his tone. But you stayed in place, tilting your head back to stare up at him. "No, you don't. I was just mistaken for a moment. It looks like you're done here. How about we meet sometime tonight and go over your notes?"

"Not going to check it out for yourself?" He sneered, but you could sense a hint of despair in his voice. It didn't surprise you. Sure, he had been strong enough to wield the blade, but it had to be eating him from the inside out. All of that power didn't come without consequences.

"Oh, I will," you assured him. "But I also want to hear what you two other agents have to say as well."

By this time he had been joined by another man. Taller and lankier, your instincts told you these men were brothers or had worked together for quite some time. Definitely hunters.

"Dean, it wouldn't hurt," the new man suggested, giving you a name to go with the face.

Dean shook his head, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "We don't need any help. This case is cut and dried. You can just head back to your little office job and leave the field work to us."

With your hands on your hips, it was your turn to narrow your eyes up at him. "Excuse me?"

Dean took a step closer to you, his hands curled into fists at his sides. "You heard me. You are not needed here, so why didn't you get your designer suit out of here."

You wanted to slap him, but you forced yourself to control your temper. You needed him, needed to get close enough to him to find the First Blade. No matter how much you wanted to slap that smug smile from his face. "You don't know who you're messing with," he muttered before turning on his heel and heading outside.

"Is he always like that?" You asked the other man, hoping he was a little nicer than his partner.

He shrugged, his shaggy hair flopping in the movement. "He's been a little on edge lately. But don't take it to heart. I'm Sam by the way."

"Y/N. Listen, I didn't mean to cross any boundaries, but...,"

"Are you really an Agent?" He blurted out. "Because anyone can make fake ID's anymore."

"You mean like hunters?"

His hazel eyes widened, his lips opening up to answer you when Dean called out from the car, his voice even grumpier.

"Listen, I've got to go before he...," Sam started. "But we'll be at the local bar, probably around eight tonight. Meet us there and we can talk."