"Yeah, I think I'm gonna go for a run," Sam said as he grabbed his jacket off of the motel chair. Dean smiled at him, for the first time in what felt like forever, and he walked outside.

After Dean was cured of being a demon, he wasn't the same. He was more cautious of both himself, his brother, and their best friend, Cas. Luckily, Metatron had become so strong, that they used his strength to his advantage. They got Cas's grace back, and cured the Mark from Dean. The deal was that if he did so, he would be set free, without powers, as just a regular human.

Metatron felt the pain of being thrown to Earth, just as all of the other angels had. He was a person, and he lasted about 5 seconds, right before a car hit him, and killed him.

Sam was somewhat happy. He had his brother back, his angel best friend had his angel mojo, and they all lived in the bunker together.

Sometimes, he would wish that Dean wouldn't have come to Stanford that night to get him back into hunting.

But at times like this, he realizes that he's glad to be with his brother.

He felt a sharp pain inside, as he usually did after his soul was raised from Hell. It was usually a bad sign, like Lucifer and Michael might be around.

Except that wasn't the case this time. It was a different pain. More like a clean cut right across his chest.

He shook it off and continued jogging, thinking about the case they were working on. It was definitely a demon, but he couldn't tell what the pattern was.

He took a couple of more steps when he heard a voice. "Hi Sam."

He whipped his head around, only to see a little girl, probably 14 or 15 years old standing against the park bench. "Long time, no see," she said not taking her eyes off of him.

He squinted first, then raised his eyebrows. "Who are you?" he asked her.

She tilted her head. "You don't remember me?" she asked. "I'm offended."

He knew her from somewhere, he just couldn't put his finger on it.

"I've met you," he said.

"Yes."

"Has Dean met you?" Sam asked, trying to rewind to the days they weren't together.

"Yeah," she said. "Twice, actually."

This was like a puzzle with no fence; no matter how many pieces he put in the middle, there was more created on the outside, expanding until it drove him crazy.

"Did we save your life?" he asked, thinking about previous cases.

She bit the inside of her cheek. "No."

He stared at her, willing himself to remember who she was.

"I don't remember," he said. "I'm sorry."

"Seriously, Sam," she said. "You don't remember who I am?"

Sam studied the girl. She was wearing a racerback tank top with a pair of dark wash jeans and converse. Her hair was dark brown, and her eyes were the color of chocolate. She left her hair loose, and it was perfectly straightened.

He shook his head. "I didn't," he said. "I didn't make you, did I?"

"What?" she asked. "No."

"Then who the hell are you?" he asked, almost scared.

She sighed. "My name is Sadie. I'll give you that."

He stared at her. Saide? He'd never met a Sadie in his life!

He noticed that she was starting to grow frustrated.

"Really?" she asked. "Wow, nice."

He felt bad, but he couldn't remember. It was getting frustrating for him too.

"Could you please tell me who you are?" he asked

"Fine," she said. "Only because you said please."

She walked up to him, her arms crossed.

"I'm the demon that released your soul from hell."