The Winchesters reside at the Men of Letters' Headquarters but are currently working a case. Upon coming back, there is a young woman who looks an awful lot like Castiel inside their home...but since the place is warded to high heaven, how could she possibly have gotten inside? More importantly, who is she?

Author's note: I do not claim any of the characters, story or rights to the Supernatural Franchise. I only claim ownership and rights to the character I made up myself named Cassandra. That being said a note on the plot: It probably won't get brought up in this chapter but I should mention that I definitely came up with my own Mythology for this story that is not part of Supernatural. I'm not going to spoil any details at the moment, but it is very significant to the story.

CHAPTER 1

Intruder

"I'm telling ya, Sammy, you should've kept it." Dean smirked, keeping a firm grip on the steering wheel as they headed farther west on the interstate.

The two brothers were on their way home from a case in Pennsylvania. It disturbed Dean how he wasn't in the shape he had been in his early twenties, and each time they had to battle something like a vamp nest or even just a poltergeist, each case was getting harder and harder and taking more of a toll on him physically.

He rolled his shoulder blade and winced a bit, still sore from their encounter.

"Yeah, Dean. The number of a girl who lives four states away. Totally." Dating was the last thing on his mind, and especially not just a late night hookup. Every woman he'd ever tried to have a connection with either got their heart broken or ended up getting killed. But to be honest, the pain of losing Jess had faded to a dull ache. A sadness and regret, but it didn't haunt him the way it used to.

"That's the first time a girl gave you her number instead of me. You should've kept it."

Sam scoffed. "It's not the first time. Plus, don't we have more important things to worry about? Like I dunno, the Angels running rampant, killing Abaddon, the fact that Cas is AWOL-"

"- He probably just hasn't charged his phone." Dean smiled as their surroundings got to looking more familiar. It was extremely ironic that the boys had been from Kansas, and it also happened to be where the Men of Letters' Headquarters was located. The flatness of the landscape and open sky was a welcome reprieve from all the mountains and thick trees they had to drive through in Pennsylvania.

Sam leaned back in his seat and took a deep breath. "Well, it's a relief that you know your boyfriend so well. At least, we don't have to worry." The sarcasm was laced in Sam's tone like icing on a cake.

Dean averted his eyes, blushing at the word boyfriend. Yeah, I wish. "Cute. I'm probably never going to settle down but you definitely should. I can picture you with a wife and kids running around." He said it in a tone that was lighthearted, but he meant it; he wanted Sam to be happy.

"My track record with girls is not the cleanest."

Dean nodded. "No, no you're right. It's got blood splashed all over it."

Sam scowled. "You didn't have to go that far."

"Admit it, you walked into that one."

"Shut up."

"Bitch."

"Jerk."

There was a lot between them that hadn't been settled. Sam was still sore about Dean's lie concerning Gadreel's possession, and he still felt responsible for Kevin's death, even though technically it had been Gadreel who performed the deed.

It would never make a difference to Sam, he saw it happen through his own eyes. But for the moment, at least, the two had to be on the same side so they could fight the impending threat of Metatron's tyranny and of course the pain in the ass who deemed herself, Abaddon.

They did have a bit going for them. The leviathans were taken care of, Sam was in one piece (mostly) with no other company in his head, the Ruby incident was way in the past and neither of them were losing their minds.

For the first time in a while, they were just working together to save the world. Again.

It was a couple more hours of being on the road before they finally pulled up to the familiar, towering structure of their home. Dean led the way and walked down the mini flight of stone stairs to get to the massive metal door, and turned the key.

The two brothers upon walking in set down their equipment on the table and threw down their bags. "Home sweet home," Dean said, unable to contain the smile on his face.

"God, I thought you would've gotten over the domestic kick you were on when we first got here."

"Shut up. It's called "nesting." And since this is our home you shouldn't walk around when your shoes are all muddy."

Sam did a double take as he shrugged off his brown Carhartt. "What are you talking about?"

Dean glared. "Look at the floor! It's covered in mud tracks."

Sam looked to where he gestured. "Um…Dean…"

They were both staring now and came to the same realization. "Wait…those are really small footprints." Dean looked up at Sam.

They were boot tracks, alright, caked in mud that led down the main hallway and around the corner. Way too small to be Sam or Dean's, or even Castiel's. And whatever kind of creature was strong enough to get into the Bunker when it was warded from every monster possible, was a force to be reckoned with.

Simultaneously Sam and Dean pulled out the guns and knives they had stored in the waist of their pants and the inside of their shirts and instantly went into stealth mode.

Someone was in the bunker. Or something.

Pistols at the ready, they walked slowly, peeking in each room with a flashlight. The tracks eventually led to one of the lower levels…

Where the bedrooms were.

The two brothers followed the tracks, which were getting less and less defined where it eventually led to the door of one of the bedchambers. Sam pushed the door of the room open with the tip of his gun and soundlessly pointed the flashlight in every corner of the room until he found a small backpack at the foot of the bed.

It was caked in mud, but through the muck, it was very obviously the bag of a young woman. It was a faded purple color with clothes spilling out the top, and a clear quartz charm attached to one of the zippers.

Sam took a deep breath in and pointed the tip of the flashlight slowly to the headboard…soundlessly closing in on the figure…

And then froze.

Sleeping peacefully was a young woman with dark brown hair, almost black that spilled all across the pillow in luscious waves. She was burrowed underneath the plushy comforter except for her left arm which was adorned with a silver bracelet.

"Dean," Sam spoke aloud. It was all he could say because he was dumbstruck. Even though she was asleep, he could tell that this woman was extremely striking. Her wrist was delicate, her fingers clutching the edge of the comforter even as she slept, as if she was used to being cold. She didn't even stir at the vocalization of Dean's name, signifying that she was exhausted.

"Her bracelet's silver," Dean said. "Not a werewolf. Or Fairy. Cancels out Skinwalker and Jefferson Starship-"

"That name wasn't supposed to catch on..."

"Shut up, it was brilliant."

The silver bracelet was a good sign. It crossed off a lot of potential creatures on the Index of Freaky Scary Monsters. Dean stared at it as it glistened in the flashlight's shine.

"She can't be a shifter, either."

"Or a wraith."

They both stared at her for a while.

Sam got a tense expression on his face. "Dean...what if she's just a normal human girl and we're staring at her sleep? Isn't that a bit invasive?"

"No, what's invasive is a complete stranger just entering someone's home to crash for the night. And there's no way in hell she's human. A regular human isn't even supposed to be able to find this place, let alone get in without the key."

She stirred, making both the brothers freeze, but she just shifted so she was laying on her right side, and cuddled deeper under the blanket.

The image tugged at Sam's heart, and even if she was a monster, he realized that he wouldn't have the heart to kill her. She was just too…cute. Even under the blanket, the silhouette of her womanly figure was very apparent, and Sam had to fight the urge to touch a lock of her dark hair. It flipped up at the ends and caught the light in a way that kept him frozen where he stood.

Sam cocked his head to the side, indicating that they should exit the room. Dean refused to budge. "Dean, let me out."

"We don't know what the hell she is, and you're just gonna walk out of-" But Dean caught the expression on Sam's face.

He looked at his older brother with sad eyes and a painful grimace on his face, shaking his head.

Dean lowered his blade. "You can't kill her."

Sam didn't answer, but still stared at the door behind them.

Dean looked at Sam, then back down to the woman. "Go."

Dean moved aside so Sam could get out of the room. The sting of his brother's stare still irking him as Sam exited. This did not make him weak. Wanting to preserve life was not weakness.

But he was lying to himself. He knew the real reason he had to get out of that room.

Because if it really came down to it, and he had to kill her, even if Dean's life was on the line, he wouldn't be able to do it. And that made Sam a liability and a failure as a hunter.

After Sam walked out, Dean got down on his knees to inspect the contents of the girls' bag with one hand, his knife at the ready in the other.

Holding part of the flashlight in his mouth and balancing the other part between his neck and shoulder, he sifted through the contents. No hex bags or spell books, so witch was out.

Dean decided to function on the assumption that she was –somehow –just a regular human. Even if that was the case, the bag's paraphernalia was still odd. Or rather, the lack of it was odd.

Dean furrowed his brow as he processed the new found information. A few shirts, two tank tops, a rolled up pair of pants and a toothbrush were all he had found so far. No cellphone or wallet, no form of identification, or any sign that she was connected to the outside world, only a bar of soap in a zip-lock bag and a bundle of bills tied up in a hair band were at the bottom of the bag.

Other than that, nothing.

Dean tensed as something cold made contact with his hand. He took hold of it and pulled the object out of the bag.

A silver watch.

The hand moved with each passing second, showing that the watch still worked. It was banged up and aged but still clean enough that Dean could read the inscription on the back.

C. H. T.

Even including the stash of money, this was no doubt the most expensive item the girl owned. Dean pocketed it on the inside of his leather jacket.

She definitely appeared human. There was no way of telling if the watch actually belonged to her or if she pinched it from someone else, but it didn't make sense for a monster to steal a watch off of a human anyway. Especially one made of pure silver.

He looked again at the face of the girl. Even in sleep, her expression was tense. As if despite the fact she was in such a vulnerable state, she still had her guard up and would never be completely relaxed.

As a child, Dean had seen the same look on his Dad's face when he slept, and the women he'd spent the night with all told him he adorned the same expression before he woke.

The face of a drifter. Someone lost. A person who didn't have a home.

Whether it was the soft fullness of her mouth, the tininess of her nose or just the fact she looked dead tired, it stirred that same feeling he had for Sam when they were young.

The instinct to protect. Whatever the something was, it made Dean stow away his blade and turn off the flashlight. Dean silently left the room and closed the door behind him.

He wondered what the C stood for. Carly. Claire. Cindy. Courtney…

Dean started dialing Cas' number on his phone and then pressed the call button.

Whoever she was, the two brothers would find out when she woke up.