Mary Winchester stared at the small creature, culred up and sobbing in the center of a sizeable cage, coller around it's neck. A chain stretched from the coller to the bars of the cage, and the creature was as far from the edges of the cage as the chain would comfortably allow it. It cried, huffing out words in a language Mary didn't know.

"It's just a baby," she said, a little stunned. Her co-worker, Bela, shrugged, tucking a long strand of silky hair back behind her ear.

"It's a monster," she said, voice clipped and cuncaring. "We collect monsters.:

Mary felt a quickening in her gut, and she absently touched a hand to her stomach. "It can't be more than, what, three?"

Bela shrugged again. "How the hell should I know? It's probably a shifter or something. Trying to trick us into thinking it is innocent." Bela didn't trust monsters at all. Not their intentions, not their natures. Mary was more pragmatic. A lot of what monsters did, she knew, was pure instinct, having less to do with a desire to trick and more with a desire to survive. She had brown up hunting them, after all, and the company used her knowledge and experience with all sorts of the creatures they caught. Mostly, she knew, the supernatural creatures tried to stay unobtrusive, out of sight and out of harms way. Sometimes though, they got greedy, or started to feel entitled, or went a bit mad and started killing wantonly, just to kill. That's when hunters or, Mary had thought, the Company stepped in. But this was just a ichild/i. He hadn't hurt anyone. It would have said on his file if he was brought in for hurting or killing a human. But there was nothing. At least, nothing in the file Mary had seen. And she was supposed to see everything, because she was one of the few that had almost exclusive access to all of the monsters in the Company facility.

This child was unknown 009—Winged Classification 2-Bird (As the small tattoo on his arm denoted him U009WC2B. And that was all they knew of him. They weren't sure quite what he was, only the ninth unclassified monster they'd ever found, two bird-like wings and an extra set of muscles to control them the only things differentiating him from a human child. Mary could see the child. Bela only saw the monster.

"Well, it certainly has a pair of healthy lungs," she said, clearly annoyed, her crisp, British tones starting to sound a bit frayed. "Lilith will want it to shut up. Maybe she'll muzzle it or something." Mary shot a glare her co-worker's way. "What?" snapped the other woman before rolling her eyes, and capping her pen. "I'm going to finish my report elsewhere. You're a mother. Shut it up, or I'll call Lilith to do it." She sauntered out of the room, leaving Mary alone with the monster. The child.

She swallowed, and carefully used her key-card to unlock the cage, slipping inside. She closed the door behind her, but didn't lock it. It was a toddler and chained up besides. Escape wasn't possible. She sat carefully in front of it. Him.

"Hey, baby," she said softly, like she might if her own son, Dean was hurt or scared. "Hey, don't cry." Stupid thing to say really, he had lots of reason to cry. But she wasn't entirely sure he could understand her words, considering that he had yet to speak a word of English, and no one was sure what language he was speaking, It would be best, for the moment, to talk to him like a spooked animal. Calming, using words she'd use for her own child. "It's alright," she continued. "But it's best if you stay quiet, alright?" She reached out a hand tentatively, and touched his head. He flinched away, and her heart ached. What had he been through already in the past two days or so since he'd been caught that he was expecting her to bring pain? She started threading her hand through his baby-soft dark hair. It looked different than Dean's but it felt the same. It hurt more, she thought, that the two boys were of an age. Maybe they'd even have been friends. If this boy wasn't a supernatural, anyway. This was going to be hard. Especially if she kept comparing him to Dean. Mary kept up her soothing talk, stroking his hair gently. Soon, the boy started to relax, to calm down.

"Shh, shh," Mary hushed. She wanted to pick him up, to hold him, but she didn't dare. She wasn't even supposed to be in the cage at all, much less helping him feel better. He asked something then, voice hoarse and broken, in that strange language of his. "I don't know what you are saying, baby," she said, sadly. "I know it's got to be scary. In this place with strange people. Poking you and hurting you. I'm sorry baby. " The boy sniffed.

"Mama," he said, or at least, it sounded like it.

"You want your mother?" asked Mary, heart pounding.. He nodded, breath hitching again. "Do you understand me?" He nodded again, thumb finding its way to his mouth. He watched her now, breath still shuddering through him, choked sobs sporadically wracking his small frame. "Do you speak English?" There was a long pause this time, and he slowly shook his head. "Were you learning." His eyes, huge and so very blue, filled again, and he nodded, shaking. "That's okay," she soothed. "Don't cry, Angel. Maybe we can teach you, alright? You'll be able to tell us what you need." They wouldn't kill it—him—not until they knew what it was, what it ate, what it was capable of. And hopefully, not even then. It was just a child. He. He was just a baby.

She wasn't sure how long she sat there, but soon the child-Angel-she called him in her head, was sleeping. She didn't think it was that long, because after smoothing his red, warm, tear-stained cheek, she stood easily. She'd rather expected to be stiff or achy, but apparently, time had not gone as quickly as she had thought. Mary left the cage, locking it securely behind her. She couldn't stay in here to fill out her log, not while the boy slept, miserable and frightened on the hard floor of the cage. She wanted to help him. That was odd. She never wanted to really ihelp/i the monsters. Perhaps it was because this one was so young. She shivered. Whatever it was, she had a bad feeling about the whole situation.

Mary was called to Lilith's office early the next day, only moments after clocking in. Lilith unnerved Mary, quite a lot. She was the head of the Company, it's founder and lead proponent. She was ruthless in getting information, though she hid her worse nature with a small smile and a pretty face. Honestly, Mary thought the woman looked a bit alien, but most people did seem to find her attractive. Still, she smiled, but her eyes were cold. Everything about her was like ice. Mary didn't like her, and she didn't trust the woman further than she could throw her. Lilith knew this, and it didn't seem to bother her. That unnerved Mary too. She simply ignored her most of the time. Except, it seemed, today. "Mary Winchester," she said, with a small, humorless smile. "The logs are quite interesting. What interest have you in U009WC2B? Surely you aren't getting it confused with a real child?"

Mary swallowed, licked her lips. "No," she said, slowly. "But he—it—is just a baby. And it seems intelligent too. I don't think it speaks English, but it understands it fine. I think, if we taught it…well, I think it can be taught."

"Really," said Lilith, slowly. Mary nodded. "And why would we want to do that?" asked her boss, almost with a genuine curiosity.

'To see what it can do," said, Mary, a little confused. "That's what we do here, isn't it? See what the monsters are capable of, within laboratory conditions."

Lilith looked almost amused by that.. "Of course," she said. "Very well. You have one month to show me it is worth trying to teach the little monster anything. If it does not learn enough, then we will stop your teachings. I will have others test it's physical limits. You can be in charge of learning it's mind." Mary nodded. Lilith would torture the poor thing, she knew that. But she hoped, if she could prove that it was clever, that there was merit in keeping him whole…maybe it—he—wouldn't be irreversibly harmed. "You may go," said Lilith, returning to…whatever it was she was doing. Shuffling paper around on her desk it looked like, but Mary just nodded and stood, leaving the room before Lilith changed her mind. She always felt a little bit weak and shaky after leaving Lilith, and she leaned against the wall to recover a bit before pushing off and striding down the hall, twisting her long blonde hair into a pony-tail as she did so. She had a child to teach.

Mary knew she shouldn't get attached. The child was a monster, he wasn't ihuman/i, he wouldn't have the capacity for caring about anyone but himself. But he looked up when she entered the room, and she swore she saw relief in those sad blue eyes. Bela raised her eyebrows. "You're to teach it?" she asked. Mary nodded. "And I'd prefer to do it without an audience," she said. Bela rolled her eyes. "You can come back later," said Mary. "And you don't need to be in the room to take your notes. Go to the observation room." Bela sighed, and left. Honestly, she didn't really care, but sometimes Her High and Mighty Righteousness Winchester needed to be reminded that Bela didn't actually work for her.

Mary waited until the woman was gone, and opened the cage, closing the gate behind her. She sat across from the boy again. "Hello again Angel," she said, with a little smile. He didn't return the smile, instead watching her warily. "Can you say 'hello?'" He stared at her, a little sullenly. This might be harder than she'd thought. She had to get him to trust her.

"I'm Mary," she said, pointing to herself. He gave a tiny nod. "Can you say it? Mary?"

"Mary," he said. She grinned at him.

"Excellent. Do you have a name?" He didn't answer, just stared, blue eyes never leaving her brown ones. She licked her lips. After a moment, she reached into the pocket of her lab coat, pulling out her wallet. She pulled out a photograph and showed it to the little boy. "That's me," she said, unnecessarily. "And that is my son, Dean." The monster child studied the photograph intensely for a long moment.

"Dean," he said, finally. Mary nodded.

"Yes. Dean. He's about your age. I think you'd like him. Well, I don't know about that, but he'd definitely like you. He's a sweet boy. And he is fascinated by birds right now, so he'd like your wings. They are very pretty," she added, glancing at the soft grey feathers. He fluffed them a little. She wasn't sure if that was pleasure or discomfort, so she continued talking. "Dean is a little chatterbox," she said, and smiled at the other boy's confused look. He narrowed his eyes at the picture again, holding it tightly, trying to figure out what exactly she meant by that. "Chatterbox. I guess you haven't heard that before." He didn't respond, but she continued anyway. "It means he talks a lot. About anything and everything that crosses his mind. Birds and fish and bugs and trees and if the moon is made of cheese." The boy shook his head. "Do you know what the moon is made of then, Angel?" she asked.

He licked his lips and spoke again, in that language she didn't know. He stopped at her confused expression, and deflated a bit. He touched the floor of the cage, hard cement, and looked up at her.

"Rock?" she asked, wondering if that is what he meant, and he nodded. It was the dim grey of the floor too, he knew, but he wasn't sure how to express that in English just yet. It was easier to hear and read that it was to speak and write. "Can you say it? The moon is made of rocks?" He shifted slightly and looked down.

"The moon is made of rocks," he parroted.

"Good!" she said, enthused. At least he understood her. That would make everything a lot easier. His feathers fluffed slightly, though his face didn't change, and she thought that meant he was pleased. After a moment of silence, the boy seemed to be struggling with what the proper words. "Come on Angel," she said quietly. "I won't be mad if you get it wrong, I promise."

"Cheese?" he asked. "The moon…um. Made of cheese."

"Why does he think the moon is made of cheese?" The boy nodded. "He saw a cartoon." That didn't look like it explained anything. "There is a story," she said, about a man and his dog, and they build a rocketship and go to the moon because they are out of cheese for their crackers, and the moon was made of cheese so they built the ship to go and get some." She almost laughed at the nonplussed expression on the child's face. "It's just a story," she said.

"Silly," he said. "No…go to moon. "

"Not for cheese anyway," she agreed. "It would be easier to just go buy some more at the store. But it was just a silly, fun story, like I said. It doesn't have to make sense." That seemed to appease the boy for now.

Mary spent almost all day with the child, calling him Angel more often in her head now, as well as directly to him. Tomorrow, she thought, she'd bring a book. They could read, and he'd get better with words and syntax. He was already doing quite well, she thought. He struggled more with getting words in their proper place, and using identifiers. He didn't seem very going at prepositions or tenses, or even simple things like 'the' and 'or' and 'and.' Possibly the language he seemed to be used to didn't use words like that, though it was hard to wrap her head around. Before she left, she tried to take the picture back, but Angel didn't seem to want to part with it.

"Mary," he said. "Dean." He held it to his chest, staring at her with wide, frightened eyes. Mary offered a small smile.

"Alright," she said. "You can keep it. I'll be back though. Tomorrow I'll bring a book." He looked doubtful. "I promise, Angel. I'll see you tomorrow."

"Mary…" he hesitated.

"Yes?"

"Angel?"

"Well, I don't know your name, do I?" she asked. "And you look like an angel. With the wings and all." He nodded slowly, mulling this over. "What is your name?" He tightened his lips, and didn't answer, just stared at the picture of Mary and Dean. Mary nodded to herself, and left the cage, offering one last goodbye as she went.