Sam had described the place as a hole in the wall. Dean had called it the "Batcave." When Y/N walked into the bunker, it was late night – or very early in the morning, and all she cared about was being pointed to a bed for the night. She ended up falling flat on her face, and she was completely knocked out the moment she hit the bed.

Outside, Dean lingered in front of Y/N's closed door. Had he done the right thing, dragging her into his life, when he was at his worst? When he really thought about it, would there ever be a right time in his life? Every single day that passed was just another nightmare greater than the last.

"I'm gonna crash too," Sam announced, and disappeared down the hallway to his room. His thoughts were plaguing him as well. The only thing he could think about was saving Dean. He had to find a way. Deep down, he knew that bringing Y/N into all of this was not the wisest move, especially for her. He was putting her life at risk, but he was desperate. A desperate man could be compelled to do things he never thought he would do. He prayed Castiel would come through with something, some way to save Dean from the Mark, and himself.

Almost as if he heard the very prayer, Castiel's name lit up on Sam's phone with an intense vibration. He glanced down the hallway to see that Dean had already adjourned to his room. Feeling safe from being overheard, he answered. "Cas, tell me you have something."

"I might," he said, and Sam heard the hesitation in his voice. "But you are not going to like it."

The water pressure is freaking amazing, Y/N thought as she let the water pour all over her. After months and month of cheap accommodation, in both the states and Europe, genuinely clean sheets, and decent water pressure in a mold-free bathroom felt like absolute heaven. Her mind wanted to linger, and indulge just a little bit more but she stepped out of the shower and hurriedly dressed.

She chose a simple worn out t-shirt and a pair of faded jeans. Unlike Sam and Dean, an overload of plaid and three layers of shirts were definitely not her thing. Her entire wardrobe, whatever meager things she kept close, was very black. She liked the shade a little too much. It was just a perfect colour, she felt comfortable in it, it was non-descript, and she could blend into the dark as easy as a shadow.

Excited to finally get a good look at this bunker the boys had gushed about, she opened the door, only to find Dean ready to knock on it. "Hi," he said blinking down at her. He brought his hand down to rest by his side, and Y/N wasn't certain but she thought she saw a slight tint of red creep up to his face. He cleared his throat. "Did you sleep well?"

"Like a baby," she told him, mustering up a smile. She wanted to ask him the same, but the slight shadows under his eyes told her that he probably hadn't.

In an unexpected move, he took hold of her hand, and gently pulled her with him. "Come on. There's something I have to show you." The smile he threw at her was unexpected too, that she forgot they weren't supposed to be this familiar with each other. He wasn't supposed to touch her like they've always known each other, right? It's been twenty years since she last saw him! Except, all of a sudden, it didn't feel like twenty years had passed between them. In her mind, this thirty-something man was replaced by the boy she had known and loved, always excited about showing her something, whether it was a shot gun he'd made on his own or an EMF meter he mustered up from a busted walkman.

He pulled her down the hallway, and as she hurried to keep up with his long strides, she vaguely saw a number of rooms lining up the corridor. Then they were in an open area. "Oh my god," Y/N gasped in awe. Dean couldn't hold back the grin as he watched her take it all in.

The tables were probably made of the finest type of wood. The lighting bounced off perfectly on ancient samurai swords and a multitude of shining weapons on flamboyant display. The sigils on the floor and even the ceiling were done to perfection with evident craftsmanship. Y/N only had eyes for the large bookcases with lines and lines of books arranged in the shelves. The Men of Letters bunker had a library she would kill for.

"This is freaking unbelievable," she mumbled, twirling around, and letting her eyes take it in.

"Over 2000 years' research of all things supernatural gathered by anyone ever," he said gesturing to the library, "is right here in this place."

"No way!" she shrieked.

"Yes way!" Dean laughed deep in throat.

She picked up a random book off a nearby shelf. She opened it up and placed the frayed pages in front of her face, taking a good healthy sniff. "This smells like heaven," she breathed.

"You haven't changed one bit, have you?" he said, and Y/N turned to him to find that he was grinning at her like the little mischievous boy she remembered.

The smell of books was always a source of comfort for her, and that was probably why the town's library had become her sanctuary. Her favorite place though was the Members Only section, simply because no one really came there. It was her own slice of heaven away from the rest of the world. She had to show it to Dean. That was how Dean Winchester found himself in an actual library, leaning against a shelf with a look of utter boredom on his face.

"What are we doing here again?" he asked, watching her run her fingertips across the spines of bounded volumes of whatever they were. She shushed him. He looked around, and chanced upon the sign saying this was a restricted area. "We aren't even supposed to be here, are we?"

She scoffed dismissively. "And when has rules ever stopped you, Winchester?"

"True," he chuckled mostly to himself, simply because Y/N was in her own little bubble, sniffing away at pages.

The shuffling of footsteps made them both glance up in alertness. She quickly grabbed him and squeezed themselves between two shelves, out of direct line of sight. She laid a finger to her lips, wordlessly telling him to keep quiet.

It was a tight fit in the little nook, and Dean's firm chest was pressed against hers. He could feel everything that was womanly about her, so soft next to him. His scent and presence invaded her nostrils and her mind. He smelled better than the best scent of a book. His hand rested right next to her face, gently holding on to the bookcase, barely touching.

The librarian walked past them and then she left that room, moving on to other parts of the building.

"I think we are clear," Dean announced in a whisper. His eyes bore into hers, and for the life of her, she couldn't look away. The crystal jade of his eyes could capture her mind, and her heart, too swiftly if she wasn't careful. Her eyes dropped to his full lips. The proximity must have been driving her insane, for she had the sudden impulsive urge to press her own to his. "I think we are clear, Y/N," he repeated, just a little louder.

Her eyes rushed back to his, and the embarrassment on behalf of her evidently unreturned wayward thoughts made her push him away. "Idiot," she mumbled. "Come on. Let's go home."

Dean couldn't understand her sudden shift in mood. All he knew was that if they had stayed there, pressed against each other, feeling her breasts against him, taking her fruity heady scent to his head, just a little longer, he wouldn't have been able to hide what was in his pants. Stupid hormones, he cursed to himself, and pushed away from the bookshelf to follow her out.

A book dropped with a loud thud. His eyes met her widened ones. There was no way that the stuffy librarian had not heard that. "You are such an idiot, Dean," she said, and a sudden giggle escaped her lips watching his obvious childish regret. She grabbed his hand and rushed out the building, still giggling and laughing. He was laughing too. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately with her around.

When Sam walked into the library with his hopelessly healthy egg white omelet in hand, the sight that greeted him had him slightly staring. Dean was grinning like a little idiot. He hadn't seen that in a long while. Seeing the cause admiring the library and sticking her nose into a book, whatever doubts he had of involving Y/N in his mission to save Dean evaporated.

When his brother mumbled something about getting a shower and left Sam alone with Y/N, he thought it best to tell her of what he had planned. "I'm going to watch a boring French movie tomorrow. At least that's what I'd be telling Dean."

Y/N stuffed her hands in her pocket, and watched him sit down in front of his laptop. "And where will you be really going?"

"Remember that scribe of God who almost destroyed Heaven?" Sam asked. Upon Y/N's affirmative nod, he continued. "Castiel and I are going to find a way to get him to talk. He knows something about the Mark. I feel it."

"Castiel would be the angel in love with you two, right?"

Sam chuckled. "He would have a field day with you." Y/N raised a brow at his insinuated insult. "He's awkward around humans. Especially sassy women," he said as an explanation. Then his expressions turned grave. "Worse come to worst, we'd have to bust Metatron out." Y/N wanted to protest but Sam said, "I know, alright? It's the worst plan out there…but right now, it's all I have. I have to do something, Y/N!"

She laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "I know, Sammy. I know." Then trying to elevate the mood at least a bit, she said, "While you're gone, I'll make sure to keep Dean out of trouble."

He smiled back at her. "Thanks for being here, Y/N. I mean it. I don't know if you can see it, but he seems better already with you around."

The guttural screams of anguish and endless pain that reverberated off the bunker's walls told them both that Dean wasn't doing better. He wasn't better at all. In fact, he was getting worse.