The fading light created dancing fragments of fire between the stacks as the youngest librarian shelved the books returned that day. The repetitive motion of checking the title, finding its place, and fitting it onto its shelf had become a form of meditation for the brunette over the past five years. Each shelving of a book weathered down the grief. Though who she was mourning, she wasn't sure. Was she mourning her friends? Who sacrificed themselves to save the world? Yes. She refused to admit she was mourning anyone else, so with each touch of pale hand to book, she buried her feelings, created a mask of normality that allowed her to ignore the suspicious stories in the news and online, to ignore herself.

She reached the last book in the cart, a book on Christian mythology with a picture of Michael killing Lucifer on the cover. Her eyelids began to blink rapidly to hide the tears that began to overtake her grey eyes. The librarian swiftly put the book away and returned the cart to the circulation desk. The young woman grabbed her bag and bid the janitor goodnight.

The wind curled around her face like those fingers she hoped to forget. She walked to her car, the crunch of the autumn leaves echoing underfoot. She had just grabbed the handle of her car door when she heard a voice absent from her life since the day she lost it all.

"Amy."

She froze. Amy turned, one hand reaching for the switchblade in her coat pocket, and met green eyes she thought were permanently closed in sleep.

"I thought you were dead."

That erased the vague, hesitant smile from his face. He ran his fingers through his perfectly spiked hair, in frustration or guilt she wasn't sure. "I know. I'm sorry. I— I just wanted you to be safe."

Amy raised an eyebrow in scepticism. "So, you thought that letting me believe that you were six feet under was the best option? Did you even think what it would do to me? I lost you. I lost Sam. I lost Bobby. I lost Cas. I lost—"

She turned back to her car and put her hands on the roof, mind spinning with cacophonous flashes from that day. Blood, screams, and a flash of light as she was forced away.

Dean's reflection flexed its hand on the weapon it had in its pocket. "I know. I'm-"

Amy pivoted back to the hunter. "Do you? Do you really?"

They locked gazes until Dean looked away. "Who else is alive?" The librarian asked.

"Everyone, except-" His hand flexed again.

She pulled her hand off the blade in her pocket. "Of course, and no one, not one of you, wanted to tell me that most of you survived?"

Her query was met with silence.

"Or did they all agree with your misguided attempt to keep me 'safe'?" The lack of a response was answer enough. The woman turned back towards her car door, reddish brown hair dusting over skin in the wind.

"We are going to the cage."

Amy froze, car door half open. "Why?"

Dean walked to her left. "There's this chick called the Darkness. We let her out, and he was one of the ones who locked her up to begin with."

Her hand twitched toward the knife in her pocket. "Why tell me?"

"You know why."

Green eyes pierced through her facade. The walls rose higher.

"So, what? You think he will be more willing to help?" The eyes turned away as feet shuffled in shame. Black painted fingers twitched towards steel. Ice coloured her voice as memories surfaced. "I don't know how much the beer has affected your memory, but you did this last time, too. Used me against him. Remember how that turned out?"

Dean's gruff hand covered Amy's lily white one as it clenched the top of the car door. "I know. I'm- I'm so sorry."

Amy ripped her hand away. "Just words, remember?"

He holds out a piece of paper with a phone number and an address. "If you change your mind, we will be there. Ask for Billie. She'll let you in."

Amy says nothing; she just grabs the paper and gets in her car.