Sam drove Clara to a small bar a few miles from the bunker, claiming they had the best steak for miles. There were few people in the bar so early in the evening, but they got good seats. They placed their orders and sat in awkward silence for several long moments. Finally, Clara spoke.

"Castiel told me a lot today."

Sam sighed, knowing where this was going. "How far did he get?"

"I made him stop when he told me about . . . about the Cage."

Sam nodded, thinking as he took a drink of his water.

"You got out," Clara acknowledged.

"Yeah," Sam sighed. "Without a soul."

"Without a – oh. Oh, Sam, I'm . . .I'm sorry, I didn't . . ."

"It's okay," he assured her. "It's back now, obviously, thanks to Dean. Those, uh, those were some rough times." He cleared his throat. "But I was going to fill you in on what's happening now."

"Yes, please."

He quickly and briefly explained the threat they were facing, the impending darkness and all it's possible doom. He mentioned a child briefly, but their food came, and he left it at that.

"So how do we stop it?" Clara asked, eating a fry.

Sam looked amused. "We?"

"What? I jumped right in," she said. "I have no place to go. No way to get home for a while. So how do we stop it?"

"We don't know yet," Sam admitted. "But we'll find something. I swear."

"You're cute when you're determined," she told him, and he grinned.

"You're cute whenever," he retorted, and she grinned too.

At the end of the night, they made it back to the bunker, and went straight to the books. Clara scanned through several lengthy volumes of curses, and Sam searched the web for anything on the Darkness. Hours passed, and Clara rubbed her eyes, heading for the kitchen. Sometime on the counter caught her eye.

She came back into the main room, placing a full bottle of whiskey and two glasses down on the table. Sam raised his eyebrows. "What's this?"

"A pick-me-up," she replied, pouring some whiskey into the glasses. She handed one to Sam and held her own up. "Here's to good health."

They drank, and Clara refilled their glasses.

"What's this one to?" Sam asked, taking his.

"Good whiskey."

They wasted their night on research and pointless books. Just around three in the morning, Clara was falling asleep at the table when Sam got a phone call. He frowned at his phone, thinking it was Dean at first, but sighing with annoyance when he saw who it was.

"What?" he snapped into the phone. Clara was surprised; she may have only known him two days, but honestly she didn't think Sam had a mean bone in his body.

Sam listened for a few moments. "Does Dean know?"

More listening, and then Sam running his hand over his face. "Where? Yeah, I can be there in twenty minutes. Fine." He hung up, standing.

"Meeting someone this late?" Clara looked at her watch.

"Bit of an emergency," Sam said, grabbing his jacket. "You should probably stay here."

"And miss the action? Not a chance." She was standing, pulling her own new coat on as well. Sam raised an eyebrow, but didn't say anything against it. He led her towards the garage, and Clara was in awe of the amount of cars lined against the wall.

Sam was getting into an old but well maintained car, and Clara followed, sliding into the passenger seat. She smiled at Sam and he gave a brief smile back before leaving the bunker.

They drove into a small town that was, to be quite blunt, a dump. Houses were crumbling and people argued and wondered the streets. Sam, though, found the darkest spot in town – between two buildings, blocked in with a fence. "Just in case," he told Clara, but she wasn't quite sure what that meant.

"I have to meet with someone here," he said, putting the car in park. "He's dangerous, and we haven't exactly been getting along since, um, ever."

Sam opened his duffel and lifted a Smith and Wesson out of the bag. He checked it before pushing into the small of his back. He also grabbed an odd looking knife, the blade bent like teeth in the steel and with odd script on the side.

"What's that?" she asked curiously.

"Kills demons." He handed it to her, and she took it, looking it over cautiously. Sam looked amused. "Know what, keep that on you. It comes in handy."

"Do you have others?"

"That's the only one like it."

"Where'd you get it?"

Now Sam's look changed to one of discomfort. "Uh," he said, shifting. "A demon kinda gave it to me."

Clara smirked, but sheathed the knife, clipping it to her pants.

"Here," Sam said, handing her a strip of leather with a charm tied on the end. It was an odd symbol, of a star with flames around it.

"A little early to be giving me jewelry," she joked with a grin, but she slid the necklace around her neck.

"It's an antiposession charm," Sam replied in the same smart-alec tone.

"Where's yours?" Clara asked, pushing her hair back.

Sam reached up and pulled his shirt collar down, revealing a tattoo of the exact same symbol.

"Smart," Clara admitted.

"He's here," Sam said, unbuckling his seat belt as he got out. "Stay in the car."

Clara stopped, waited a moment, and then got out, jogging to catch up to Sam.

"I thought I told you to stay in the car," he grumbled as she struggled to match his long stride.

"You did. But I thought you might need backup."

Sam sighed. "Just . . . don't do anything."

The man they were meeting was only about Clara's height, maybe slightly taller, with dark hair and the beginnings of a beard. He wore a well-tailored suit, his hands leisurely stuck in his pockets. He raised his eyebrows. "About bloody time," he grumbled in an accent not unlike Clara's.

"Traffic," Sam retorted, voice thick and dripping with poison and sarcasm.

The man looked annoyed, and his eyes fell on Clara. He frowned and pointed. "Who's this?"

"What do you want, Crowley?" Sam cut straight to the chase.

Crowley sighed in annoyance. "I thought you'd have Dean with you. Or at least Castiel. You'll excuse me for keeping my distance, but I see no more hex bags in my future, Moose."

"Then shut up and talk."

"It's . . . about the child," the man started begrudgingly.

Sam's eyes flashed. "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing," Crowley said defensively. "But shower her with attention. She's a very hungry little thing."

"What, no catering in Hell?" Sam snorted.

Oh, Clara thought. Oh, this man is a . . . oh, that makes sense.

"You're a demon," she couldn't stop herself from saying.

Crowley turned his attention to her, obviously amused for the moment. "The demon, actually. And might I inquire who you are, love?"

"Clara," she said, and Sam sighed. Why bother with the danger girl, after all? Why did the cute ones always have to be so crazy?

"Pleasure, Clara." He stepped forward, removing his hand from his pocket, and Sam tensed as Clara hesitantly shook it. "Forgive my staring, I'm just not used to our Samantha here keeping such pretty company."

He certainly was charming, that was for sure. "I thought you'd have horns or a, you know." She mimed a pitchfork, and Crowley actually smiled.

"I'm sure I could dig one up if need be . . . for a hunter?"

"School teacher."

"Really?" Something shifted his eyes. "Interesting."

"I can't believe you two are actually having this conversation," Sam said. "Crowley – the kid?"

"Yes, well, as I did say," Crowley said, "She's hungry, and getting quite powerful."

"So feed her."

"Not for food, you bumbling oaf," Crowley looked annoyed. "For souls."

Sam frowned. Crowley raised his eyebrows.

"Dean didn't tell you? Oooh, and here comes the drama."

"Doesn't matter. How many has she had?"

"By my count? Several dozen, and she wants more every day."

"You've got one option," Sam said. "And that's to give her to us. There has to be something we can figure out."

"Really? And how is the extensive research on the Darkness coming, Sam?"

Sam shifted his feet and looked away.

Crowley looked smug. "That's what I thought. She's safer in Hell. Up here, anything could happen. The angels could swoop in and smite her, she could go nuclear, or worse, my mother could find out."

"You're supposed to be keeping tabs on her. We have the codex, but she still has the book," Sam warned.

"Well you try following that damn woman!" Crowley exclaimed, looked exasperated. "She's here, she's there, and she's killing my men right and left. I can't spare the time or resources on her right now. So Hell is where Amara stays for the time being."

"Then what do you want me to do?"

Crowley looked annoyed. "I want you to fix this mess you caused!" he snapped. "Find how to contain the Darkness and do it fast!"

"Crowley, you are not my problem," Sam said, very clearly. "If you can't handle something, then it's Hell's problem. Not the Winchesters."

"See, I thought you might say that." Crowley clapped his hands together. "Which is why I've made up a little deal."

"No. I'm not making any deals."

"You don't have a choice this time," Crowley retorted. "Here's my offer. You work on finding something that can satisfy the child and contain the Darkness, or I open the Cage."