The sun rose, just like any other day. Dean drank coffee that morning, just like any other day. Danielle took some water and went out to help an old hunter friend's son, which was admittedly not a daily occurrence, but nonetheless, considerably normal. Sam's phone had around a dozen missed calls, most being from Danielle, who took her new-found role as a little sister very seriously. But two were from Dean. And that was, as of two weeks ago, a very normal occurrence too.

Crowley had adapted to his life as a "normal" human quite well. So had Michael, he noted with a touch of amusement. They'd even taken on the concept of dinner parties to an exceptional degree. According to Jennifer across the street, Michael's quiches were simply heavenly. Currently, they were lying back on the couch together, Michael's lap forming a perfect cushion for the back of Crowley's head. Growley, the hellhound, was lying peacefully on his bed near the door. A rug covered up the scratch marks the lovable mutt had left on many occasions.

Meg took a long, grateful sip of her coffee. Say what you wanted about humans. But they certainly made a damn good drink. Booze. Coffee. Tequila and lattes had formed a major part of the demon's life, and since Crowley's grudging bestowment of his duties upon the rookies, she really did need a generous measure of the two. She was now dialling the number for Sabathiel, an angel friend of Castiel's. She never understood their damn names. Why not just Cas, or Sab? Nobody was going to use their full names on a daily basis, even if they were smoking hot.

Dean leafed through a book beside Castiel, growing confused as he tried to decipher the symbols. "Cas…" He gestured to the pages helplessly. Castiel obliged willingly, and made a note above the words quickly. "It's Sammy's job." He explained limply. The blue-eyed angel turned the pen over in his hand, and sighed softly. Dean expected a retort; instead he received a gentle pat on the shoulder. A ghost of a reluctant smile haunted his face, and he looked down at the table. Yeah. It was Sammy's job. Not his. His job had been to take care of Sammy. And he fucked up colossally.

Charlie was in her room, just opposite Danielle's. Her laptop was open on her lap, numbers and letters flying off into cyberspace the second she gave them permission to do so. Researching demons that lurked in the deep web was usually child's play, but this particular asshole had done a fraction of research. And so, his reward was being trolled and taunted by the self-proclaimed nerd of the Bunker. Although, Dean was stiff competition. So many puns!

Sam was lying flat on his back on the world's second-most-uncomfortable bed. The bed that held claim of the world's most uncomfortable bed was in a motel just outside of Cleveland. His phone buzzed again, bringing the grand total of missed calls up to 17. Eight from Danielle, seven from Dean, and two from Charlie. There was also a string of caps-locked messages from Castiel, who was deeply concerned for both Sam and his own lack of technological know-how. He turned on his side, facing away from the phone, and closed his eyes with a suppressed sigh of frustration.

Danielle watched her phone pleadingly. There were hundreds of pissed off angels waiting in Heaven for her to stop praying. Finally, it rang through, and she sighed, placing it back into her pocket as the young man ran around the corner, almost barrelling into her. "Jeez, lady! I'm sorry, did I hurt you?!" She shook her head in surprise, steadying them both and managing to smile in reassurance.

"I'm fine, thank you. Where is Declan Rosses dorm?" She asked politely. He almost scoffed, and jerked a thumb at the corridor he'd just sprinted down.

"Third door on your left. Don't touch anything; he says it's all haunted…" He waggled his fingers mockingly, and then headed back down to the east wing. Danielle watched him leave, then glanced down at her hand, waggling the fingers thoughtfully as she approached the door.

Bobby was at his wits end. He'd received around a dozen phone calls that morning from various hunters begging for a way to understand how so many supernatural beings were running loose upon the Earth. And that was just that morning. In the last two weeks? Countless more frantic messages and nervous voicemails heralded that nasty gut feeling that Bobby had grown used to in his time as a hunter. A veteran such as himself knew to fear that kind of reaction. In the same way a student grows to fear the results of a disastrous exam, an experienced hunter knows to fear prolonged exposure to phone calls regarding increased levels of supernatural foes, running amongst the oblivious civilians.

Jodie had gone from visiting Bobby every single day to being postponed like clockwork. But working with the law meant it was impossible not to pick up a few things along the way. Namely, how to deduce. And judging by the light in his garage every night, she was starting to deduce that something was far from alright with the hunter. Claire passed dry remarks about seeing Bobby leave the local stores with armloads of cans and tins, and Alex had even picked up on his more frequent purchases of salt, iron and silver tubing in the DIY store she worked in. All in all? Things were changing at a rate that made every fiber of her body tingle with unease.

Rowena was sitting in a dark warehouse, on a cracked, red leather armchair that only just managed to make it into her reluctantly-accepted abode for the simple fact that it was relatively comfortable. In front of her, a few books were opened on various pages, her hands pressed against the surface of the steel table. Her gaze was lifted, her pupils rolling back as the figure opposite her held her wrist carefully. "What do you see, Rowena?" She asked insistently.

"Cassandra, just… A… Moment…." Rowena breathed out, her head tilting back a touch more. And suddenly… There it was. She could see the black smoke swirl around her, before shooting back to form a man's suit, and a woman's slim ball gown. Their hands were joined. Smirks that promised danger and things that exceeded the very essence of Hell itself. Yet, none of that caused the electric fear that seized up her entire body. No. It was the symbol, painted in blood behind them, a sick backdrop to their seductive unity.

"Rowena!" Cassandra yelped. And then the witch returned to the warehouse, gasping for air, frightened sobs escaping her. "Rowena?!" She crouched beside her and tried to encourage her to open her eyes.

"It was a myth!" She whispered shakily, clutching her mouth. "A legend! The prophecy… Dear god, no!" Her hand splayed across one of the numerous pages, and Cassandra reached forward, her caramel brown skin brushing the words.

"And so, it was proclaimed that the first woman of God, and the first man of God, would unite as the world became riddled with new, ugly life. And they would form a bond, upon which they would begin the abyss of Earth's final end. The abyss from which the End shall be born." Cassandra felt sick. "No…" And the two witches shared a single, terrified glance, and clung to each other, each praying for a salvation, for hope and redemption. But it was all too late.