A/N: Please don't be mad at me if things don't make sense all the time. :)

Ordinary morality is only for ordinary people (Aleister Crowley)

"This is a joke, right?" The young woman stared at the handsome man in front of her.

"Demons?" She folded the arms in front of her chest, her whole posture signalling disbelief. "Right. Well, you've gotta come up with a better story than that. Demons? Really?" She shook her head and laughed without amusement.

The cloaked man seemed unimpressed.

"I understand. The information may be too much to comprehend at first, but you can trust me. We have to leave now." He reached out a hand, but she backed away.

"Trust you? I've known you for what? Two minutes? You suddenly appear out of nowhere, destroy my MacBook, - Thanks for that by the way – talk total nonsense and now want me to trust you? I don't think so!"

She turned to the phone, but the cloaked man blocked her way. "I'm sorry, but we're running out of time." He touched her forehead with his fingers and the young woman fell unconscious into his arms.

She looked like an ordinary young woman of around 26, pretty but not breathtakingly beautiful. She wore dark-blue jeans with a plain white T-shirt and her long brown hair was kept in a ponytail with a fringe. Her green eyes suddenly flicked open behind a pair of semi-round horn-rimmed glasses that had come back into fashion these days. She opened her eyes once, twice - slowly adjusting to the light, while she sat up on the bed. Then her eyes fixed upon the unknown man that sat in front of her.

"Who are you?" She asked and involuntarily pressed herself into the wall behind her.

"Please calm down. There's nothing to worry about. I'm Sam. Sam Winchester. A friend of mine, Castiel, brought you here to keep you save."

"Castiel? The guy that suddenly stood in my flat, destroyed my stuff and kidnapped me?"

Sam grinned. "Yeah, I think that's him." He looked younger than her, but not much. His hair was long and brown and reached all the way down to his shoulders. He had innocent green eyes, an almost childish look on his face and certainly didn't look like a kidnaper, but then again she knew better than to judge a book by its cover.

Then the door opened and another man walked in. He looked different. Slightly older and handsome - the rough and manly type.

"Hey, sleeping beauty, feeling better already?" He handed her some fries. "Want some? I've made them myself. There's in unbelievably cool kitchen down here." The woman just stared at him and then shook her head.

"That's Dean by the way. He's my brother." Dean smiled broadly at the woman.

"Yes, I'm Dean and this is my room. The first room I've had in ages. But you can sleep here. No problem." The look he gave his bother made it clear that it was far from being ok. "You can feel right at home here."

The woman looked around. It wasn't very homey... What kind of room was this anyway? The room of a serial killer? The wall was decorated with weapons, one of them being a huge axe. But on the desk there was a photo too. It showed a young boy with his mum. Maybe there was hope after all.

"Where am I?" The woman asked suspiciously.

Dean sat down on his desk, shoving the old typewriter away. "We are in Lebanon, Kansas." He explained, while eating more fries.

The woman looked around once more. "This makes no sense."

Dean grinned. "To make a long story short: You're in a bunker in Kansas because at the moment your pretty ass is right on top of Abaddon's blacklist. She's shaking things up quite a bit down there, you know and …. well, it certainly might come in handy one day if your dad owes us a favour or two."

"My DAD?"

"Yeah, Crowley. King of Hell. Short guy, likes to hear himself talking."

"What the hell are you talking about?"

"You are Elizabeth Bryden, right? The one from Milarrochy, Scotland?"

TBC

A/N: Please review and let me know what you think about it.