"Yeah, we're at a motel just outside the city,"

"Okay, good. So, I was wondering if maybe you could go to my place and pick up a few things for me. I'd go myself, but...the only clothes here that aren't Crowley's are the underwear I'm wearing and I'm not sure I'm even allowed to leave," Grace was once again struck with the question of where the underwear came from. Did he take them from someone's room? Did he buy them? Did he create them in an instant with some kind of demon magic?

"Ah...that might be a problem,"

"Why?" Wherever this was going, Grace knew it wasn't going to be good.

"It was on the news this morning. Your apartment, just yours, went up in flames and, ah, everyone kind of thinks you're dead," There was a short pause before Grace groaned and palmed her face.

"Now what am I supposed to wear? What if someone else shows up here? I'm not a playboy bunny," She complained more to herself than to Sam. The fact that everyone thought she was dead was irrelevant to her. There was no one to miss her.

"We could pick you up a few things-"

"No, no, I can't ask you to buy me clothes," She sighed heavily.

"We'll be there in an hour,"

"Sam-"

He hung up the phone before she could protest. Grace sighed and let her hands fall to her lap. She had always hated to impose on people. She didn't like to ask for help and she especially didn't like to ask for, or even be given, money. She liked to at least think she could take care of herself to some degree.

Resigning herself to her current predicament Grace rose her phone back to eye level and began looking for some form of entertainment. Half an hour into playing some puzzle game there was a knock on the door, this one much more tentative than the last. Grace scampered to the door once again and peered outside to find Sam and Dean waiting.

"That was quick," Grace noted as she opened the door for them, stepping aside so they could enter the room.

"Yeah, well, good luck I suppose," Sam said with a tight smile. "Coffee?" He held a cup to her and she took it, nodding graciously.

"Pants?" Dean spoke next, holding out a pair of black, oversized sweat pants.

"Yes, thank you," She eagerly took and stepped into them. They were just barely snug enough on her hips to not fall off. Dead handed her a cotton shirt and she took it as well, though realized that she was reluctant to remove Crowley's.

"So," Sam trailed off as he paced.

"What are you to Crowley, huh?" Dean interjected, having in qualms with getting straight to the point. "Slave, pet, secret weapon, what?" Grace looked at him for a moment, staring into her stern face and hard eyes.

"You're exhausting," She stated before promptly walking away and plopping down on the couch.

"Look, I don't know what you expect me to say. I'll tell you what I know. I made a deal with Crowley for a purpose. Life or death; it didn't matter. He said he could make use of me and we made the deal. There was no explanation," She felt like she had been over this a million times.

"And you didn't question it?" Dean asked, reminding Grace how stupid he thought she was without saying it directly.

"No, I didn't," Her ability to tolerate him was wearing thin.

"So...what's happened since then? Has he...used you for anything?" Sam asked, obviously willing to be more reasonable.