Okay, so let's pretend they're all like 20 (with Cas being the exception, of course). And so, um, everything else is the same, so they all have their nice hair (let's never speak of Season 1 Sam...) and everything. Just for the story. Then, I can fast-forward 20 years and they won't be old farts.

Anyway.

On to the story!

Team Free Will finished the first hunt they'd had in a while. At Dean's request, they bought more towels to place on the Impala's seats, so they would not mess up her leather. Sam and Cas happily obliged, as they were all bloody, sore, and tired. The drive back to the bunker was a long, quiet one; the only noise being breathing or the rustle as the trio drew straws to see who would sower first. Normally, they had two showers, but Cas broke the other one. In a freak accident involving potato guns and a wig.

Sam had the shortest straw, so he practically leaped out of the Impala, racing to the bunker door as fast as his weary, lanky limbs would allow. Tearing of his shirt as he stumbled through the hallway. Then he stopped. He didn't unlock the door, didn't turn the lights on, but there he was, in a lit hallway somewhere inside the bunker. He dropped his shirt, and made his way back to Dean and Cas, who had crashed on the couch.

"Dude, what are you waiting for? Go shower."

"Dean," Sam chose his words carefully, "I didn't unlock the door. Or turn on the lights. And I know for a fact that we always turn off the lights and lock the door. So, there may or may not be someone in here. Nobody was here for hours, Dean. They may have taken our extra demon blade, or the other guns. Dean!"

Silence. Nothing moved, like it should have been for hours. Sam sighed, and walked back to the shower. Once he was down to his boxers, he reached a hand inside the shower and turned it on. He could have sworn something whimpered at the hot water, but he chalked it up to the squeak of the knob.

He then did his regular ritual of taking his boxers off in the shower. It was quite odd, he'd have to admit, but after that one experience...he then did so.

Sam turned around so the spray wet his back, and screamed.

The girl cowering in the corner of the shower screamed back.

Sam snapped off the water. They were both mildly wet, the girl more so. She was thin, and looked to be about half a foot shorter than Sam. He grabbed her forearm and dragged her back to the living room, the girl screaming and sobbing the whole way.

Dean looked up from his spot on the couch. Standing there was his brother, practically seething, in his boxer and hair mussed up-soaking wet. He almost laughed, but then Sam shoved forward a tall, thin girl. She, too, was wet, but was fully clothed.

"I knew there was someone in here. She was in the fucking shower!" Sam yelled. The girl cowered in her spot in the middle of the floor.

"Please," she begged. "Please, just let me go." There were fat tears rolling down her cheeks. "I am so, so sorry. I j-just needed something to eat. I'm sorry." Dean stood up, and the girl took a step back, covering her face with her arms. Her step back took her directly into Sam's chest, and she whimpered as she realized that she was surrounded.

Sam motioned for Dean to down, and practically shoved the girl into one of the old armchairs. He disappeared into the kitchen, and came back out with one of the kitchen table's chairs. He sat down directly across from the girl, who managed to tuck herself into a small ball.

"What's your name?" Sam asked gently. The girl muttered a reply. "I can not hear you. Untuck yourself, and repeat the answer."

Cautiously, the girl sat normally in the chair. "C-clara. What's yours?"

"Sam. Winchester. How old are you?"

"19. And you?"

"21. Why are you here?"

"I needed something to eat. And I needed a nap that wasn't on concrete."

"Well, you've picked the wrong bunker." Sam edged closer, and the girl-Clara- tucked herself back into her ball.

"I said sorry. Please, let me go. I promise to never come ba-" Clara shrieked when Sam pulled out the gun. Silently, he handed it to her. She didn't see, and was cowering, tears making a large stain on the arm of the olive green chair.

"Clara, I'm not going to shoot you. I'm giving you the gun. Look." Dean rolled his eyes. Obviously, being a stupid sap would get him nowhere. He stood up again, and picked Clara up by the back of her T-shirt. She was almost weightless, and he set her back down so she was facing Sam. She was still a bit wet, and her hair dripped on the floor and chair.

"Now. Take the damn gun, and listen to whatever else Sam has to say." Dean snapped, and Clara nodded almost absentmindedly. As if she were raised to be perfectly obedient...

Clara took the gun slowly, cradling it in her hands. She didn't look at Dean or Sam, instead at the floor.

"You can sleep here for the night. We'll give you a bit to eat. Hell, if you can do laundry better than us, you can stay. Is that okay?" Sam was gentle with his words.

Clara nodded, then spoke. "I...can do laundry. I can cook. I'll do what I...what I must." She thought Sam didn't notice, but her hands gripped and relaxed the gun several times in a row.

"Then it's official! You're a new member of Team Free Will! Wait 'till you meet the others, they're a real hoot." Sam jumped up, making Clara flinch. "Oh, sorry. Well, it's late, and we still haven't showered. Make yourself at home. You can sleep on the couch or whatever." Sam then got up, and left to go to the bathroom.

Dean and Cas (neither of whom Clara quite knew yet) disappeared to their respective rooms, leaving Clara on the chair.