The smell of Jasmine In The Air (Sam Winchester/ Fanfiction)

The smell of Jasmine (Sam Winchester/ Fanfiction)

Classic Rock was blaring through the speakers in the old bar. I was downing whiskey shots, trying to get my mind off of things. It should be necessary to introduce myself before I start anything. My name is Jasmine Singer, I'm 25, I own a 1965 grey mustang, I have light blond hair and dark grey eyes that turn green from time to time, I'm 5'2'' and you learn not to piss me off. I'm a hunter too. "A hunter of what?" You might ask. A hunter of the paranormal. Ghosts, Demons, Banshees, Vampires (not the ones that sparkle). If it's a legend, it's probably been hunted.

I was at an old bar, and being the genius that I am, decided to wear a tank top and shorts. Feeling disgusted with the stares I was receiving, I decided to leave. I paid for my drinks and walked out. The parking lot was empty, but the bar was full. I found my car next to a 1967 Chevy Impala. "Hm. Nice." I mumbled as I checked the car out. "Hey! Don't touch my car!" A deep voice rang through the parking lot. "Hey man, I'm just admiring a nice car."

Two men walked up to me. One was shorter than the other one, dirty blond, sparkling green eyes, about 5'8''. He was cute. Okay, more than cute. The other one was tall, short brown hair, and eyes the color of.... honey?. "Who are you?" The shorter one asked. "Jasmine Singer. You two?" "Dean and Sam Winchester." The taller one smiled. "Singer, as in, Bobby Singer?"

"Are you Feds or F.B.I?" The chuckled. "No. Definitely not." I looked at them to see if they were lying, and figured they weren't. I hopped onto the trunk of my car. "I'm his niece. I'm assuming you know him." "Yeah, he's kind of like our uncle." "Huh. Well I better leave. I have a job here, tracking a poltergeist."

"Well, let's buy you a drink and talk about it. We're on the same case." Sam asked. "Sure just let me put something on." "Oh, please don't." Dean flirted, staring at my chest. "I'll kick you in places where the sun don't shine if you stare at my chest again." I wagged my finger at him. Sam laughed. "We'll wait for you inside. Come on Dean." Sam pushed him. I reached into the back and grabbed my duffle bag. I rummaged around for my favorite flannel shirt. "There you are." I smiled, holding the shirt out in front of me.

*****

The bar was full. Right now, I'm hustling someone for $500 at darts. "Three bulls-eyes and I'll give you $2000" The burly man mocked. "Easy enough." One, two, three bulls-eyes. The man stared at me. "My money?" I smirked, holding my hand out. He slapped the money into my hand. I counted up to $2000, so he was okay. I walked off, but I'm assuming he wasn't happy.

I walked up to the Sam, who was staring at me. "Staring's rude, you know." "Sorry, just never seen a woman -or anyone for that matter- do that." Sam awed. "Well, get used to it, I might be keeping you and your brother around." I winked. "Where's Dea-" I was interrupted by Dean holding a cheap prostitute under his arm."Hey guys, i'm going to the motel, DO NOT go into the room." He sauntered off with the girl grabbing his ass.

"Use protection!" I yelled. Dean flipped me the birdie. "Is he always like this?" "Sadly, yes." "So, looking as though you got ditched for an STD-carrying prostitute, how about we go back to my motel room, order a pizza, and talk about how shitty our lives are." "How can I trust you so easily?" he questioned. I handed him a bottle of salted holy water and he splashed it onto my face. I wiped it off my face and gave him a 'Could you be more of a little bitch?' look. "Let's go."

~

That was nearly five years ago. Now, I was flying solo for a little bit. The boys needed some time alone to bond. I turned the music on my stereo up, it was Led Zeppelin. "Been dazed and confused for so long it's not true..." I hummed along to the rest of the song, pulling into a motel parking lot. Right next to where I was parked, was a 1967 Chevrolet Impala. "You have got to be kidding me." I murmured to myself with a smirk on my face.