"I told you, Dean, I'm fine," Sam Winchester said for, by his count, the fourteenth time that day, and it was only four in the afternoon. "I promised I'd tell you if anything was up, and I'm feeling fine, seriously." The brothers had just returned to the Men of Letters library from 100-Mile Wilderness in Maine after sending Bobby to Heaven… finally. They had also discovered Kevin had bolted, though neither blamed him too much for doing so. But it had been a long drive, and Dean had been pestering Sam the whole way.

"I believe you," Dean insisted, "But—"

"Dude." Sam didn't even raise his voice, but Dean shut his mouth. He knew his little brother and he knew when not to press him any further. Not that it had stopped him before, but with Castiel's foreboding words – "even I can't heal" - ringing in his ears, he couldn't help himself.

"Right," he muttered and started shaking off his jacket. Sam left the main entrance hall to grab their customary post-anything beers, and Dean plonked himself down in one of the lavish wooden chairs at the main table. He closed his eyes and rubbed them, willing the sleepiness to go away after having driven all that way over the course of two days and refusing to let Sam drive, then brushed his hands over his face. He was a little stubbly, though not so much that it would ruin his cover as FBI, and he could feel the bags beginning to form under his eyes.

Sam returned with the six-pack of beer and set it on the table gingerly between them, an open one already in his hand. There was a companionable silence as Dean grabbed one of the bottles and popped it open with the practiced hand of opening way too many. Sam was pointedly not looking at Dean, concentrating on the finely-crafted table, and his long locks covered his eyes as he stared. After a short moment, he opened his mouth to speak.

"Look, I-"

A surprisingly loud knocking sound echoed through the bunker, and the brothers looked startled.

"The hell?" Dean asked, pulling his gun from his jacket. Sam set his beer down and grabbed his knife. Both brothers positioned themselves by the door as the loud knocking continued. As they inched further toward it, though, they began to hear a voice yelling alongside the banging.

"-not funny, you two, and if I could, I would tell Bobby on you, so you'd better open up!" a female voice filtered in from outside the door, and the brothers shared equally confused looks. Sam quickly opened the door and Dean trained his gun on the intruder, whose hand was still up in a knocking position from interrupting her.

The second he saw her, though, he nearly dropped his gun. And Sam actually did drop his knife once he peered around the door to see what had his brother so stunned.

She looked so… familiar. Achingly so, but they knew she wasn't their mother. Just… almost. She had the same wavy curls their mother Mary had, but hers was closer to brown than blonde like the brothers'. Her nose was slim and pointed like Mary's and her eyes were even as green as their mother's. She was shorter than both the brothers and their parents. But her glare, oh, her glare was exactly like their father John's. And she was not amused.

"What's the big idea, leaving me out in the woods like that? Freaking Crowley was there and that Naomi chick and you just ditch me?" she huffed, crossing her arms in front of her. Wordlessly, the brothers' mouths flopped open and closed. She scoffed, "Ugh, this was just another one of your 'prank your little sister games', huh? I'm real sick of those, guys, been sick of them since I was nine."

The woman stomped through the flabbergasted men, who only closed the door behind her and followed her with their eyes. They noticed that she came packing – she had an ornate demon-killing knife and a wooden stake strapped to the right side of her hip as well as a gun and another more normal knife on her left.

"Like, 'ha ha, let's just leave Ollie alone with her Prius and take the Impala because it's so cool, nyeh nyeh. I'm so cool, I'm Dean, my hair matches how short I am, myeh, and I'm Sam, I'm doing the trials.' Jeez, you guys are jerks sometimes," she mocked, pulling off her denim jacket to reveal another gun strapped to her back. Angrily she trudged up the stairs to the table they had just vacated, snatched one of the unopened beers, used her left-side knife to pop one open, and started chugging.

The Winchesters just walked up behind her, completely and utterly confused, and Dean, of course, was the first to ever-so-gracefully address her.

"Uh, 'scuse me, who the hell are you?" he barked, and the woman just held up her hand to shush him as she continued to chug the bottle until it was empty.

"Wow, I needed that," she said, sighing with relief. "Sorry, what did you say?"

"Who. The hell. Are you?" Dean asked bluntly, already half done with this new person. Meanwhile the dusty-blonde intruder looked incredulously at the both of them, then burst into laughter.

"Okay, Deanie-bean, you can stop now! It's not that funny," she said, then quickly turned serious, "Unless you ran into Crowley again and he wiped your memories, hang on, I've got some holy water, that should sort you—"

"I don't know you either!" Sam interjected, and the woman stopped rummaging in her jacket and looked up at them both, a confused smile on her face.

"R-Really? Come on, Tam-tam, you're not serious. You guys are playing, right…? You don't normally…" her smiled faded into a hurt look of realization. "You don't know me?"

"No!" They both replied. She bit her lip and placed down the empty bottle with a sigh. She wiped her hands on her jeans and, although she was obviously still hurt, she smiled and pulled out her wallet. Out of that, she pulled out her Kansas driver's license and handed it to them. Indeed it was her face, her dusty blonde hair tied playfully into two braids and a huge smile on her face, and beside it read—

"Olivia Millie Winchester. Your little sister?" she said hopefully. She was met with two stunned brothers and an unsettling silence.