Hello again! Second chapter is here, and I hope you enjoy it! Please feel free to leave a review, and maybe even follow/favorite! This will end up being a bit long, so make sure to check in frequently! Now, on with the story...

When Ainsley woke up fully, she was in a cement walled room, on a twin sized bed with a single pillow, and a thin, brown blanket. She could vaguely remember the shorter man.. Dean, she thinks, picking her up from the back of the car, and taking her inside. She couldn't remember anything after that, for she had passed back out in his arms.

Looking around, her eyes widening as she saw the many guns and weapons attached to the walls of the obvious bedroom, and quickly looked away, for she childishly felt as if they would go off if she stared for too long. Patting herself quickly, she noticed her own pistol was gone; and she quickly stood up, furious and irritated. Turning in a circle, she sighed and realized that one of them obviously still had it. Walking over to the desk across from the bed, she sat in the chair pushed up against it, and placed her head in her hands. Taking a shaky breath, she stayed in that position for a few moments, trying to figure out her situation. She couldn't keep her thoughts straight, so she gave up and sat back up, her eyes landing on a photo leaning up against a lamp. She inspected the picture, and tilted her head curiously. It was a little boy, smiling with a stunning blonde haired woman. They were obviously mother and son, and she couldn't help but feel a slight twinge of jealousy. That boy had something she had never experienced, and she knew it was bad to resent someone she'd never met.

Sighing, she stood back up, and felt the pocket of her jeans vibrate. Knowing the certain pattern, it was her phone telling her it was at about 15% battery life. Sliding the thin device out of her pants, she pressed the home button, and looked at the time.

"That's freaking impossible." She stated bluntly, her eyes focusing on the date. It was exactly 1:30 pm, and two days after the incident with mister sharp and pointy. She kept looking at the clock on her phone, until the screen fell asleep. She looked around incredulously, before shutting the phone off completely. She could obviously have called the police, but what would happen then? She's hiding from them, and she wasn't planning on changing that.

Taking a deep breath, she straightened out her clothing, which consisted of a black v-neck t-shirt, bootcut blue jeans with a few tears in the thighs, and mid-calf high leather combat boots. She took the hair tie she always kept on her wrist, and pulled her almost waist-length auburn hair into a high ponytail, using her black phone screen as a mirror, she did her best to finger brush her bangs out, trying to at least look decent. "What the hell am I doing?" She thought to herself. Those men out there didn't mean anything to her. Why was she trying to look presentable?

She sighed and finished pulling out bits and pieces of hair, her tresses now pulled up into a ponytail, and her bangs, which were cut straight across, were now hanging over her brows. She left a few strands of hair down to frame her heart shaped face.

Standing up, she slowly walked towards the door. placing her hand on the handle, and twisting it, fully expecting it to be locked. To her amazement, it opened when she pulled, and she was set free into a... hallway.

"Well what bloody else would there be? A black hole?" She whispered to herself snarkily, walking out, and stepping lightly, trying to be as quiet as possible. A few wrong turns later, and a few locked doors, she made her way to a main room, it looked like. She was about to walk into said room, when she saw Sam walk out of another adjoining room, with beer and laptop in hand. She quickly hid around the corner, and tried to slow her pounding heart. It didn't help that maybe half a second later Sams phone started to ring, and he answered it with a "What's up, Dean?" She turned her head, not being able to see into the room, but being able to hear very clearly.

"No, I checked up on her about a half an hour ago. She's still out like a rock. What the hell could have happened to her? We know she must be human, we tried holy water, silver, a drop of borax, nothing. Face it Dean, she's human." Sam stated all of these things like they were completely normal. What the hell was he talking about?! She was scared, and she just wanted to leave. Hearing him snap his phone shut, signaling the end of his call, she took a deep breath, and was about to turn the corner and confront him, but that was before he outed her.

"Come on out. I saw you hide. I'm not going to hurt you."

His words were calm and cool, and kind of comforting. She bit her lower lip, trying to decide what to do, before sighing and walking out of her hiding spot, her head down, and her hands clasped in front of her. She must have looked meek and demure, trying to seem as weak and small as possible.

"You were out for awhile, huh? Are you hungry? Thirsty?" His questions were kind and soft, he was speaking to her as if she were a wounded animal, and it mildly ticked her off, but it also meant her plan was working.

"I'd like something to eat, but I'm not so sure I'd trust some strange man I've barely met making it for me." She stated these words in a small, timid voice, and added a small, girlish giggle to the end for good measure.

He nodded at her, and stood up, waving her over. "I completely understand. Come with me and I'll show you the kitchen." He turned his back to her, and walked back to the room he had come from in the beginning, and she followed him, her eyes searching everywhere for where they might've hidden her gun. Making it to the kitchen, she tried to smile at him, but it was weak, and this time not purposely. She made quick work of her sandwich, and he left her to do so. She ate it in the kitchen, for she had never liked eating in front of people. When she was finished, she grabbed a bottle of water, and walked out to where Sam was. He was sitting down at a long table, and typing things into a search bar. She was too far away too see what he was typing exactly, but whatever he was doing, he was focused.

Not wanting to disturb him, she took a seat at a freestanding, padded chair, Drawing her thighs up against her chest, she layed her cheek upon her knees, wrapping her arms around her legs and breathing deeply.

"...Where's Dean?"

As soon as the question was out of her mouth, a door up a flight of stairs opened, and the man appeared from it. He was holding a black backpack that looked... very familiar, and a grocery bag.

Lifting her head, she watched him walk in. His eyes locked with hers, and she resisted the urge to look away. She was going to prove that she was not going to be scared. She watched him walk down the steps, and place the grocery bag down by Sam, before he dragged a chair over to her. Placing it in front of her backwards, he straddled it, and placed the black backpack down in front of her. It was hers, and she had left it in the motel, due to the fact that she had just shot someone and really didn't have time to think about grabbing it.

"So. According to this I.D. we have here, you are Amber Cameron, aged 23. Now what about that seems off? Maybe it's the fact that you told us your name is Ainsley, and if you're 23, I'm Harry Potter." He said these words while never breaking eye contact with her, and she struggled with the urge to just jump up and run.

"It's a fake I.D., numbnuts." She whispered, raising her brows and tightening the grip her arms had around her legs, her gaze never wavering from his candied apple green irises. She heard Sam let out a small bark of laughter, before attempting to cover it with a cough. Dean leaned back, and threw his hands in the air, letting out a soft chuckle of his own.

"Okay, Ainsley. You wanna tell us the truth then? How old ARE you? And where the hell are your parents? We'll call them and take you home." Sam said these words, standing up and walking over to her, crouching beside the chair she was sitting in, and placing a hand on her shoulder.

The second she heard "Family", her eyes darkened, and her face went to press against her knees, a deep sigh racking her body, and her shoulder shrugging, shaking his hand off.

"I'm sixteen, and my family has been a series of foster homes since I was popped out. Any more questions, Nancy Grace?" Her last sentence was almost severely sarcastic, and she lifted her head, a dark smirk upon her lips.