I glanced over as Cas arrived. The angel was in his usual suit and trench coat, though this time with a more stressed expression on his face.

"Hey man." Sam glanced up from his computer. "Rough day?"

Cas nodded. "My siblings were- distressed by my absence," he stated. Dean chuckled as he grabbed a beer from the fridge.

"They didn't cause any trouble, did they?" I asked. I glanced around at Sam and Dean. "Sorry. Was that too blunt?"

Dean shrugged. "Nope. I was thinking the same." Sam nodded, giving Cas a sorry man look.

"Not that I know of." Cas sat at the table, leaning back in his chair. "I'm still getting caught up on what I've missed."

"How long have you been gone?" I asked. "What day is it here?"

"December eleventh," Sam stated. "We've been gone a couple of weeks."

I nodded. December eleventh. It was nearly Christmas time.

"So," Cas glanced back and forth between us. "What are you doing?"

"Just hanging." Dean took a swig of his bear. "We're gonna take a couple of days before we get back to work. We gotta get Lucy settled in."

I smiled as Cas glanced over at me.

"What are you going to do?" Cas asked me.

"I'm gonna hunt with Sam and Dean," I told him. Cas nodded.

"Do you know how?" he asked.

I shrugged. "I picked up a few things from the show," I said. "And they can teach me the rest."

Cas caught my eyes with his own. "Be careful," he warned. "It's a dangerous job."

"I know." I offered him a smile. "And I will be."

Cas sat back again, pleased.

"Are you staying for the night?" asked Dean.

"No." Cas stood, pushing his chair in. "I have to get back to heaven. But I said I would check in."

Sam nodded. "We're probably gonna head for the bunker tomorrow, so if you need us, look there." Cas nodded and disappeared.

I glanced at my watch. 10:40.

"I'm gonna head to bed," I said. "See you in the morning."

"See you."

I slipped out of the room and into the one next door, locking the door behind me. I had left Sam and Dean with the second key to my room, keeping only one key for myself. I set it on the nightstand.

I made my way to the bathroom, brushing my teeth quickly. During the day we'd run out to a local store, buying some changes of clothes and other basic necessities. I had also insisted on eyeliner and mascara. I'd missed makeup.

I was more tired than I'd expected. I wondered if it was wormhole lag or something. Either way, no more than fifteen minutes later I was asleep.

Again, the old woman flashed across my vision. I would never be rid of the scene, with all that blood spurting up at me, watching the light fade from her eyes. I was glad that I hadn't seen that with the manager.

Not that I wasn't seeing things from the motel. Soon the scene changed, and I was lying on the floor in the small room I had inhabited, watching my pocket knife sink into the manager's chest. Blood spread from the silver of the blade.

"Lucy?"

My eyes yanked up at the voice. It wasn't the manager's heavy Italian accent but a lighter, younger voice. I would know it anywhere.

"Peter?"

I watched in horror as my little brother looked down at the knife protruding from his chest. The blood was spreading still, the stain on his shirt growing, dripping down onto me. Now it was coming out of his mouth, a small stream dribbling from the corner of his lips. His brown eyes were wide in terror and agony as he choked out my name one last time. Then he collapsed on me, dead.

"Lucy! Lucy!"

I woke with Dean shaking my shoulder roughly, yelling my name in my ear. I scrambled backwards, pulling the sheets up and over me.

"Are you ok?" Sam was there, hanging back, though his face was twisted with concern. Him and Dean. They were both stripped down to their underwear, and Sam had a nasty bed head.

"Yeah." I glanced around, panting. "What happened?"

Dean backed up, sitting on the bed closer to the door. "You were screaming," he said. "Woke us up. Probably the whole motel."

I winced. "Sorry." I glanced up a moment later, worried. "What was I screaming?"

Sam shrugged. "We couldn't make out most of it. Just the name Peter."

I sighed in relief. I didn't know if they knew what had happened in the motel room. So far they hadn't asked, and I hoped it stayed that way. I didn't know how to tell them that I'd killed the manager.

"Who's Peter?" asked Dean. I sighed.

"My brother." I lowered my gaze, running my hand through my hair. When I glanced up again Sam and Dean looked uncomfortable.

"You can go," I told them. "I'm fine. I'm sorry I woke you."

Dean smiled reassuringly. "It's not a problem," he said. He stood to go.

"You sure you're ok?" asked Sam. He hung back a bit, waiting for my answer. I nodded.

"Yeah, go, I'm fine. Night."

"Night." With a frown, Sam shut the door behind him.

"Say cheese."

I tried not to let my smile be the type that looked like I was thinking about hitting Dean upside the head with the camera pointed at me. Which was hard, because that was exactly what I was thinking. The camera flashed, and I stepped over to see the results.

"I look like I'm plotting someone's murder," I whined. Sam chuckled as he peered over my shoulder.

"Let's try again." Vince took his camera back and gestured for me to return to my position in front of the wall.

Vince was tall and lanky, with brown skin and black hair. The tips of his hair he'd dyed red. This, he'd explained when we'd entered, was for an upcoming football game.

Sam and Dean went to him whenever they needed a new ID. Whether it was because they had used their current IDs too often or because they needed to impersonate a different type of official didn't matter. Vince was their guy.

I was wearing jeans and a flannel shirt, just like Sam and Dean. They had insisted that they get me a driver's license, just in case I ever ran into any cops. I'd decided not to remind them that I was still seventeen. Hopefully it would say eighteen on the ID.

"Alright." Vince positioned the camera, peering at me through the lenses. "Shift to your left just a touch. Good. Now-"

"Say cheese." I aimed a glare at Dean. If he said that one more time…

I laughed when a moment later Sam held his hand over Dean's head, giving him bunny ears. He flexed his fingers, making the ears go up and down, and I chortled. The camera flashed.

"Beautiful." Vince was appraising the photo, holding it out for Sam and Dean to see. "What did you do?" he asked them.

The two brothers shrugged, one in confusion, the other trying to impersonate innocence. I giggled as I went to look at my photo.

"That's still not good," I stated. Dean rolled his eyes.

"You'll never be happy with it," he said. "It's fine. It's great. Let's use it." He handed the camera back to Vince, who brought it over to his computer.

An hour later the ID was ready. Vince handed it to me with one last inspection of his handy work.

"Thanks." I examined it, noting with glee that it had 1996 as my birth year. That made me eighteen.

"Thanks man." Sam pulled a wad of cash out of his pocket and handed it to Vince.

"Thank you." Vince stuck the wad into his own pocket. "See you next time," he called.

We each gave him a wave as we exited the shop. Vince had his operation under disguise as a sports shop, but anyone who knew what package to ask for was brought into the back room for a fake ID.

The impala was waiting outside, and we climbed in. Dean pulled into the streets.

"Do you even know how to drive?" he asked.

"More or less," I said. "My dad gave me a few lessons. I never really had much time."

"Really?" Sam glanced back. "What were you doing all day?"

"Homework."

Dean snickered. "You see, I never had that problem," he stated.

"That's because you spent high school making out with the cheerleaders under the bleachers," commented Sam. Dean shrugged nonchalantly.

"So now what?" I asked.

"Now, we head to the bunker," Dean said. I nodded.

Sam glanced back at me again. "Did you get any sleep last night?" he asked. I could tell he was eyeing the shadows under my eyes.

"A bit," I lied. Sam pressed his lips together, but let the subject drop.

We spent the rest of the day in the car, making our way to the bunker. Dean took extra caution as he drove, not wanting to take any chances that we were being followed. It was getting dark by the time Dean drove to the base of one of many hills out in the middle of nowhere. There, nearly hidden, was a large door. Sam got out to pull it up.

It was a garage door. Inside were a bunch of antique cars, many of which I recognized from the show. I even saw the motorbike that Dorothy had ridden. Dean pulled the impala into an empty space and climbed out.

"Home sweet home." He stretched, and when he stood straight again I saw that he was already much more relaxed. When Sam returned from pulling down the door, I saw that he was too.

"Come on." Sam headed to the door to the bunker, which was set into the wall a few feet away. "I'll give you the grand tour."

The boys led me through the bunker, showing me the kitchen and the weight room, containing a bench press, bunching bag, and salmon ladder. There were also several weapons lined up. I could imagine the boys coming down there to work off some steam, Sam taking to the punching bag, Dean grabbing a gun and aiming for the targets on the opposite wall.

We left soon after, and they took me to the library, which contained all of the men of letters's knowledge.

"I've been going through this place," Sam told me. "Seeing what they've collected, adding some stuff of our own."

I nodded, eyeing the ceiling high shelves that stretched up and down the large room. "That must be taking a while."

Sam grunted. "You have no idea."

"And here," Dean shoved aside some shelves, "is our dungeon."

I stepped forward as the room was revealed. It was dark and cold, and I waited a moment for my eyes to adjust. In the center of the room was a devils trap painted in white paint, a single chair sitting at the center. There were also chains anchored into the floor.

I glanced back at Dean. "I feel like if I actually go in there you'll lock me in."

Dean chuckled. "Only for a few minutes."

I laughed and quickly retreated from the dungeon. "Nice try."

Sam led me to the bedrooms. There was an entire hallway at least. Probably more.

"Pick a room." Sam moved to one on the right, tapping the handle. "Not this one though. This one's mine."

"And this is mine." Dean leaned against a door a few feet further down the hall, this one on the left side. "But you can pick from any of the other rooms."

I nodded, drifting slowly down the hall. Which one should I choose? I pushed open the second door on the right, peering in. The room was big, bigger than my room at home had been. There was a bed against the far wall, a nightstand next to it. To the left of the door was a dresser. Other than that the room was bare.

I turned to Sam and Dean. "This one works." I doubted the other rooms were any different. I would be able to add to it over time, make it my own. The thought was both comforting and sad all at once.

"Come on." Sam tossed his bag into his room and closed the door. "Let's get something to eat."

I nodded and set my bag on my new bed before following the brothers down the hall. Dean started rifling through the fridge as Sam and I sat at the table.

"What've we got?" Sam called over his shoulder. I faintly heard Dean gag, and a moment later something hit the trash can.

"We've got peanut butter, pretzels, and beer." Dean made his way into the dining room with a four pack of beers in one hand, a jar of peanut butter in the other, and a bag of pretzels clenched in his teeth. He let the bag fall onto the table, setting down the beer and peanut butter a moment later. "Unless you want the moldy- whatever that was that I just threw out."

"Great." Sam eyed our selection. "Looks like I'm going shopping tomorrow."

I chuckled and grabbed the pretzels, tearing the bag open. "Can you pass the peanut butter?"

With a quirk of his eyebrows, Dean slid the peanut butter across the table. I unscrewed the lid and shoved a pretzel stick inside, using it to scoop out some of the brown gooey yumminess.

"Is that even good?" Sam eyed my makeshift meal distastefully.

"Yeah." I turned the pretzel bag towards him. "Try it yourself."

Dean reached over and snagged a pretzel, and a moment later Sam gave in and did the same.

"Mmm, not bad." Dean licked peanut butter off his fingers.

"Yeah." Sam reached over for another pretzel.

"So, movie night?" Dean glanced back and forth between the two of us.

"Do you even have a TV?" I asked.

"Nope." Dean grinned. "We have the internet. So, what movie?" He glanced at me. "Please not another chick flick."

"You liked The Notebook and you know it."

Dean astutely ignored me, and Sam laughed.

"Don't worry," I chuckled. "I'm in more of a sci-fi mood. Avengers?"

Dean nodded. "I can go for that. Sammy?"

Sam nodded. "Sure. I'll grab the computer." He disappeared down the hallway. While he was gone I moved to the kitchen, filling a glass with tap water. Peanut butter and pretzels were good, but they made you thirsty.

We stayed in that night, crowding around the table with the computer. By the time the movie was over we'd polished off the pretzels, leaving us with peanut butter for breakfast the next morning.

We dispersed quickly once the movie finished. I ended up sitting on my bed, staring at the wall.

My room.

It almost felt like a betrayal. I had left behind my old life so quickly, so easily. I already had another family, another home. Was it too soon?

I grabbed my bag, slowly standing with it and moving to the dresser. I finished shoving the clothes into the drawers quickly and set the bag down in the corner. I was officially moved in.

I wasn't sure what to do next. I wasn't tired. And I still didn't have a book to read.

I curled up in bed, staring at the wall where the light threw shadows and resisting the urge to make shadow puppets. I didn't want to go to sleep. I knew all too well what waited for me there, in the dark depths of my dreams. I didn't want to face it.

Finally I stood, slipping out of my room and into the hallway. I was pretty sure I could remember the way to the library. It ended up taking me nearly ten minutes, but eventually I made it.

I moved along the shelves, wondering which book to read. I had no idea what was in any of them. What did the men of letters write about? Something told me there wouldn't be any homemade apple pie recipes in there.

I grabbed a random book off a shelf, bringing it over to a small table at the end of the row and turning on a lamp. I had to blow a thick layer of dust off the book before I could open it, doing my best not to inhale the small grey particles.

The book was by a woman called Jane Newberry. Apparently she had met an angel, something that had never happened to a man of letters before. I was simply impressed that she had become a man of letters. A photo of her was pinned to the inside cover, black and white. It must have been a hundred years old, back before women could even vote. She must have been one hell of a woman.

She looked like it. Brown hair was pulled back from her face, arched eyebrows throwing shadows over dark eyes. Her lips were painted; I imagined that if the photo were in color the lipstick would be a ruby red. She was narrowing a look at the camera that was half glare half grin. It seemed like she was almost daring the cameraman to mess with her. I decided I liked her.

I turned the page to see her handwriting, sprawling across the page in a neat cursive. She had met an angel named Anna while collecting information on djinns. Jane had nearly been killed on the job, but Anna had been nearby, and had rescued her.

I paused to think. Anna. Where did I know that name?

Oh yeah. She was the angel that had torn out her grace, falling to earth to be reborn in a human body. After regaining her grace after meeting Sam and Dean, she had gone rogue and tried to kill them and then their parents to stop the apocalypse.

Her presence on earth made sense. Even then, at the beginning of the twentieth century, she must have been thinking of her unhappiness in heaven, maybe even plotting her fall. Maybe she had snuck down from heaven often, wandering about, trying to act normal, human. I doubted she was the first.

I glanced down at the page. Jane had sketched a drawing of Anna. In the drawing the angel had possessed a woman with high cheek bones and a delicate look. Her hair was drawn lightly, so I assumed that the wavy locks cascading around her face were blonde.

I kept reading. Anna and Jane had struck a bond, and Jane had taken a very long leave of absence to spend some time with Anna. The two had traveled around the globe as a couple. As they had, Anna had divulged precious secrets about her kind to Jane, and Jane had written them down. Each and every one.

But I could tell in the introduction to the book that Jane hadn't been using Anna for her information. Yeah, she had copied down everything her angel lover had told her, but that was probably more of a habit. Maybe a sense of duty to the men of letters had compelled her to collect those files. But it hadn't been her purpose in traveling with the angel. Her love for Anna was clear in her writing, and not just in her words. The pen strokes were more even where Jane had spelled out Anna's name, as though she had taken her time to form the letters just right. They were darker too, indicating she had spent minutes, maybe hours going back and tracing over Anna's name, a smile coating her lips. It was a heartwarming thought, one that still held a twinge of sadness. Both of these women were dead. I felt like I was bearing witness to their legacy, their memories.

I shook aside my feelings, flipping to the next page in the book. The introduction was over, and now the facts began. Here I paused. Should I read this? It wasn't mine to know, mine to collect. I doubted Anna had even known Jane was writing the book.

I shook myself. It didn't matter if Anna had known. She'd turned out to be a psychopath in the end anyways. And besides, if I was going to be a hunter, I had to be comfortable with doing a lot more than reading up on heaven's secrets. It was always better off to know something and not need it than to need to know something later and not have the information. I was pretty sure that was how Sam and Dean had gotten themselves into messes like the apocalypse.

I continued to read.