Chapter 2

"I'm going to bed," Sam spoke up, the first time he had said anything since they left the hotel in Indiana hours ago. He quickly made his way down the hallway in the bunker, towards his room.

"Sam," Dean started, but stopped. There weren't any words for what they had witnessed tonight.

Dean stared helplessly as Sam continued to his room, as if he had never heard Dean speak at all. Sam didn't allow himself to show any emotion until he was safely hidden away behind his door. When the door clicked shut, that's when the waves of anger, sadness, and utter hopelessness began to wash over him. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry. He wanted to hit something… more specifically, he wanted Crowley's head on a plate.

Sarah Blake was dead. Her daughter, barely one years old, had lost her mother. All because of Crowley. That damn demon swore to kill every last person they had saved in their lives if they didn't stop trying to close the gates of Hell. Sam had been to Hell and back, took on Lucifer without a blink of an eye, but nothing had scared him quite like witnessing the deaths of people they had saved.

When the feelings and his thoughts became too much, Sam gave up on sleep. He made his way into the liquor cabinet in the library, reaching inside until he got what he was searching for. A huge ass bottle of Whiskey. It was the Winchester way, afterall. He went to sit in one of the several darkened rooms of the bunker. He sat with his back against the wall, taking his time with the bottle. With every sip he took, he saw her last gasps for air until suddenly, she was gone. Her dead eyes staring at nothing.

Dean found him the next morning, passed out and snoring on a table in the library. He was hunched over with the empty bottle of whiskey still in his hand. Dean sighed, climbing the steps before making his way to his passed out younger brother. He gently removed the bottle from Sam's tight grip before placing a hand on Sam's shoulder.

"Sam," He spoke softly, then a bit firmer when Sam didn't stir, "Come on, man, get up. Rise and shine and all that jazz."

Sam finally came back to the land of the living, although not so peacefully. He groaned, sitting up and squinting at Dean. He rubbed his eyes, feeling like he had gotten ran over by a truck.

"whattimeisit?"

"I'm gonna be honest. I don't know what the hell you just said." Dean laughed before shaking his head, "I don't speak hung-over Sasquatch. I think it's shower-time for Sammy. You smell like a distillery. Come on. Up."

Dean pulled him up, Sam mumbling all the while that he could do it and that he was perfectly "fine." He stumbled, causing Dean to roll his eyes. Even a hungover Sammy was an independent sonuvabitch. Some things never changed. He managed to get his freakishly tall brother down the hall and into his bed. Shower would have to wait until he was coherent enough to not drown, Dean decided. Sam immediately rolled onto his stomach, mumbling words Dean didn't hear and honestly, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Sam had a tendency to feel things more deeply and after the previous night, it wasn't any surprise that his brother had chosen to deal with it with copious amounts of alcohol. Dean ran a hand over his face, taking one last, worrying look at his broken sibling before leaving Sam to sleep off his hangover.

Sam entered the kitchen about eight o'clock that night, having showered but still feeling groggy and basically like shit. His damp hair even had a mind of its own, sticking up in different directions, but he couldn't care less. He saw Dean sitting at the table, newspaper in hand and eyebrows raised as he took in the sight of his younger brother. He had barely opened his mouth when Sam spoke.

"Don't start," Sam grumbled, reaching for the pot of coffee and pouring himself a cup. Dean clamped his mouth shut, fighting back the remark he was about to say. Sam looked as if he had gone twelve rounds with a semi-truck. And lost. Sam made his way to the table, sitting across from his brother and lifting up the coffee mug to his lips. He sighed with relief when it didn't upset his stomach and put it on the table.

"I wasn't going to say anything," Dean turned his attention back to the newspaper, but Sam knew his brother had other things—Sam things—on his mind. "Glad you finally decided to join the living."

Sam rolled his eyes, eagerly chugging down the rest of his coffee. His brother was way too predictable. He wanted to completely avoid what was about to happen.

"I'm—"

"Fine? Yeah, I got that this afternoon when I found you passed out on the library table." Dean gave up on the front of pretending to read the newspaper and folded it before placing it on the table. He leaned forward, elbows on the table. "Look, man, I know it's bad right now, okay? But we've got to stick to the plan, Sam—"

"What plan, Dean?" Sam felt the lump in his throat return as the memories from yesterday rushed back. He scoffed at his brother, "Shutting down Hell? How are we supposed to do that?"

"Yeah, we get a demon—"

"You heard him! Crowley's not going to let one near us. All we can do is sit back and watch people we saved… people we know… die. Like Sarah." Sam felt himself start to lose it and attempted to rein it in, clenching his fist underneath the table to stop him from hitting something. He lowered his voice, sounding resigned, "I'm just saying… maybe this isn't one we can win."

He unclenched his fist, choosing to look down at his hands to avoid the look he knew Dean had on his face.

"You don't mean that."

"I don't?" Sam raised his eyebrow, sighing as he finally locked eyes with his brother. To Dean, Sam looked as if he had aged ten years overnight. "What possible other option do we have here?"

"We'll figure it out, alright?" Dean finally spoke up, then adding when Sam gave him a skeptical look, "We will."

"Yeah, okay." Sam wasn't convinced. Not at all.

"You want something to eat? There's leftover pizza in the fridge."

Sam looked confused, "When did we—"

"Lunch. Today. Which you missed because you were too busy doing an impression of Sleeping Beauty. Without the beauty part, of course." Dean gave him a grin, causing Sam to roll his eyes. Sam stood up, making his way to the fridge. Dean caught sight of his brother's unruly hair, once again, and made a face. "Seriously, man, five minutes with some clippers and I could—"

Sam bit out a laugh, which was what Dean had been trying to accomplish.

"Shut up," Sam said fondly, rummaging through the fridge.

One minute he was reaching inside the fridge for the pizza box and the next he was blinking harshly at a bright light.

"What the actual fu—"

His brother was nearby, so that was a good sign.

"I have no idea," Sam cut him off, continuing to squint at the light, "I can't even see anything, can you?"

"It'll get better."

That wasn't Dean's voice. It was distinctly female and… familiar. Sam quit squinting just as their eyes adjusted. Sam noticed Dean first, checking out their surroundings before locking eyes with him. Sam shrugged before looking around again. This time, he locked eyes on a brunette in the corner and a red haired lady sitting behind a desk.

"Sam, Dean," The red haired woman greeted with a small pleasant smile on her face, "Nice to see you again."

"Wish we could say the same, but we have no clue where the hell we are." Dean spoke up, glaring at her. He assumed the worst, body radiating with tension. "Or who you are."

"Forget me already?" The woman frowned before chuckling and shaking her head, "Oh well, that's no matter. My name is Naomi. A few weeks ago, I helped you against—"

"Dude, she's the chick who nearly filleted Crowley!" Dean spoke excitedly, all heat and reservations gone. Sam shot his brother a glare. Sure, Naomi had been on their side that one particular time a couple weeks ago but they had no idea if she was one of the good guys or not.

"That I did," Naomi laughed briefly before her eyes darkened, "He's a menace, that demon. I wish someone would take him down a peg or two." Sam sensed there was unspoken history between the two and shot a curious look at Dean. "However, that's not why I brought you two here to discuss." Naomi nodded towards the girl standing beside her, "This is Lucy."

Sam locked eyes with the girl. She gave him a shy smile and that's when he realized that he knew her.

"Lucy?" Dean asked, "We don't know a—"

"I do," Sam spoke up quietly, "I know her."

Dean's head spun around so fast, it would've been almost comical. Sam noticed his brother's tense demeanor combined with his angry eyes and realized what Dean thought. He thought Lucy was the girl Sam had "shacked up with" during Dean's time in purgatory. They hadn't spoken about it, so it was only natural for his brother to assume that.

"Dean, no. I met Lucy years ago. Like, when I was fifteen."

Dean nodded and turned back around, but Sam could still tell that his brother was still angry over his time that he "didn't look." Sam realized they would have to talk about that eventually, but now was not the time.

"I can vouch for that." Lucy spoke up, pulling her arms across her chest as if to protect her from something, "Brandenburg, Indiana. Richman High. I think it was "

Dean seemed to relax at that. He remembered that high school very well. He made his way through the cheerleaders like a virus that year. He smirked to himself, man what a year that had been. He tried to remember what had happened to Sam that year. Then it hit him. Sam had gotten to go to his first dance.

"Ah, so you're the mysterious prom date." Dean nodded, smirking at Sam. Sam, despite being thirty years old, blushed because he knew exactly what his brother was thinking.

"This reunion is lovely, but we have more important matters to attend to," Naomi interrupted just as Lucy opened her mouth. She quickly shut it, folding her arms across her chest. Sam shot her a curious look, but Lucy was too busy looking at the ground.

"What's going on? Why is she here?"

"Sit down gentlemen, I'll explain everything." Naomi sighed, nodding to two chairs which suddenly appeared in front of the desk. The men hesitated, glancing at each other out of the corner of their eye. Should they trust her? Afterall, angels weren't exactly, well… angels. Noami rolled her eyes, "If you don't trust me, trust Lucy."

"She's harmless, I think." Lucy spoke up, "I don't really know, but I think it's safe enough for you two to sit and listen to what she has to say. Sam, I know it's been a long time….a really long time, actually," Lucy laughed a little, "but you trust me, don't you?"

Sam looked her in the eyes, without hesitation and nodded, "Of course."

Lucy seemed to relax at that, "then sit. Please."

Sam looked back to his brother, nodding. The brothers sat down, although sit reluctantly. Sam had said he trusted her, but how did he know she wasn't playing them in some way? After all this time, Sam had become more cynical about… well, everything. Including people who just showed up after 15 years claiming that they needed their help and had an angel as a buddy to get them involved. They had to get to the bottom of this.

"So, start talking." Dean demanded.

So, Naomi did. For what seemed like forever, the angel talked about Lucy, Metatron, and how their friend (and she used that term loosely at this point) Castiel was involved in it all. So, Lucy had just met Naomi. They weren't buddies. That made Sam a little more at ease. Maybe she was the same. However, she was still something called a Nephilim. And, with that thought, he became even more critical of what Naomi was telling them.

"Metatron wants her dead?" Sam was the first to speak up, rubbing a hand across his forehead in attempt to dislodge the headache that was on the horizon.

"Yes," Naomi confirmed, frowning, "I need you two to look after her. Protect her. She is Heaven's greatest asset at the moment. Everyone – demons, angels—will be after her."

"What can we do? Cas is our friend, lady and I don't believe that he would just—"

Naomi let out another sigh that said the basically had the world on her shoulders and she didn't have time for this. Lucy wondered why on Earth the angel even bothered with the boys since they clearly didn't believe a word she just told them. She also wondered what it said about her that she basically ate up every word the woman had told her as fast as she did.

"Boys, please. I do not have time to get you to trust me or to get you to believe that Castiel is involved. Metatron is on a witch-hunt for Lucy and nobody up here can protect her. What she needs is a place no one will think of to look for her. They saw that I rescued her, which means Heaven will be the first place they look. It is shocking they have not been here already."

"She's right, Dean," Sam spoke up, turning to face his brother, "we've gotta do something."

"And tell Cas what, exactly, when he pops in looking for us? Oh, her, no she's just another fuc—"

"Dean," Sam said exasperatedly, giving him a look. Dean sighed, mumbling cuss words.

"Fine….fine. She can come stay with us, but I'm still not sure exactly how we're the most qualified to—" Suddenly, they were back in the bunker. Dean's sentence trailing off at the realization that he was back in their kitchen. "Son of a bitch!"