Author's Note: Portions of this chapter rely heavily on episode 9.16, Blade Runner, written by Brad Buckner and Eugenie Ross-Leming and directed by Serge Ladoucer. Obviously, there will be spoilers.

Thanks again to my reviewers, you guys rock! I also appreciate all the new follows/favorites! And just as a forewarning, it looks like I might have to start updating bi-weekly. Thank you season finale for that little monkey wrench! I'll see how things go the next few weeks before I make a final decision.

Chapter Fourteen

Dean fidgeted, his eyes going to his watch for the twentieth time in the last ten minutes. He felt like he was chasing his tail trying to find the First Blade. Once they'd talked to Develin, or rather Crowley had possessed him, and found out that the Blade was supposedly at the National Institute of Antiquities, they'd gone straight there. Only to come upon a crime scene. Thank God they'd been wearing their FBI suits so they were able to get in. Now he was standing here, waiting impatiently to talk to the detective in charge of the case. There were three dead bodies and Dean was willing to bet dollars to donuts that the empty vault had been holding a certain blade made of bone.

The head detective finally crossed the room to talk to the brothers. "I don't have much for you guys," he said. "The guards were good men. They'd been here for years – vetted, honest. But…" he trailed off.

"But?" Dean prompted.

"Security camera shows a research assistant caught them breaking into vault number one," the detective explained.

Dean pointed to the dead female on the ground. "That's her?"

The detective nodded. "Gets weirder." He directed their attention to security footage on a laptop. It showed one security guard shooting the second guard, who then stood up and shot the first guard. The first guard then crossed the room and shot out the camera, cutting off the feed. "Like I said," the detective said.

"Anything special about the particular vault they opened?" Sam asked.

"Vault number one is where they keep rare, new acquisitions while they're being examined," the detective explained.

"So what was stolen?" Dean inquired.

The detective shook his head. "That's the kicker – nothing. The curator, Dr. McElroy, said the vault's been empty for weeks." One of the other officers indicated they needed him, so he gave a nod to the Winchesters as he hurried away.

"Okay, so, just connecting the dots here – the Blade was likely put in there when it first got here," Dean conjectured.

"The guards were obviously demons, so…" Sam added. "What? When the vault turned out to be empty, they killed their guard meat-suits and smoked out?"

"And reported back to who? Abaddon?" Dean wondered.

"She's closing in," Sam said.

Dean nodded, trying to ignore the shiver of anticipation that went through him at the thought of Abaddon getting closer. He needed that damn Blade and he needed it now.

"Where's the curator? We need to talk to him," he asked, looking around for someone, anyone, who looked like they might be in charge of a bunch of antiques.

Sam went in search of the detective, while Dean hung back waiting. He took his phone from his pocket and sent a simple one word text to Amie.

"Hey," it said.

"Hi," she replied. "How's it going?"

"Nowhere fast," he answered. "Leads are falling apart."

He was about to put his phone away, when he decided to ask her the question he'd been afraid to ask before leaving her at the bunker. "Are we okay?"

"Yeah," Amie sent back, followed immediately by a smiley face. "You can work on forgiveness when you get back."

Dean laughed to himself and returned his phone to his pocket. He looked up to see Sam gesturing to him from across the room, where he was standing by an attractive older woman. He crossed the room, dodging police officers and staff from the coroner's office. The last body was being taken out just as he reached Sam, who introduced the woman to him as Dr. McElroy, the Institute's curator.

"So, the First Blade was never on display?" Sam returned to questioning the woman.

"No authenticated item by that name was ever on these premises," the curator said calmly.

Dean's patience was wearing thin. "Authenticated. Dr. McElroy, this Blade was stolen and smuggled into the U.S. in violation of treaties with several governments. We can compel you to speak."

A smile spread across McElroy's face and her eyes lit up. "Compel? And what might that involve?"

Dean was slightly taken aback by what the woman was implying. It never seized to amaze him how people seemed to pick the oddest times to flirt.

"Alright, look," Dr. McElroy continued. "I did acquire the so-called First Blade. And carbon dating did peg it to biblical times, but the authentication proved unreliable."

"So it was in the vault," Sam said.

McElroy nodded slightly. "I removed it myself," the curator explained. "The guards didn't know."

"And where is it now?" Sam asked.

"Several weeks ago, a confidential offer was made to purchase it," she answered as she looked between the boys. "I was afraid I would never authenticate the thing, so – "

"Who was the buyer?" Dean asked.

"Sorry," McElroy responded. "The buyer insisted on absolute secrecy."

"Well…federal statutes trump your little deal," Dean said. "So…the buyer?"

"And you'll get it out of me one way or another, won't you, Agent?" the curator asked coyly.

Two could play this game. Dean gave her his best smirk, the one he knew got him what he wanted every time.

"I never did know his real identity," she replied with a smile of her own. "He called himself 'Magnus.' Don't ask me where he lives. I have no idea." McElroy dug in her pocket, producing a business card. "But I do have a meeting. So, here is my number, should you need anything else."

She held her card out to Dean. When Sam moved to take it, she pulled it back, then held it out again, this time making it more obvious that she wanted Dean to take it. He took it and she smiled as she walked away.

Sam glanced at him, a knowing look on his face.

"What?" Dean asked innocently.

"Better not let Amie find out," Sam chuckled, shaking his head.

Dean glared at him. "She won't, right?" he grumbled, the threat clear.

Sam shook his head again, still chuckling under his breath. "Hey, did you catch that? Magnus? Albert Magnus?" he asked his brother, bringing their attention back to the task at hand. "The name the Men of Letters used when they want to be incognito?"

"Yeah, but we know that all of the Men of Letters are dead," Dean answered.

"Do we?" Sam asked.

Dean pulled the last of his gear from the Impala's back seat. Amie was waiting for him in the library, despite the fact that it was nearly three in the morning. She'd told him to meet her in there, she was researching something and she didn't want to lose any time. He'd called her on the way back from Kansas City, intent on leaving her a message since he'd expected her to be asleep. He was surprised when she'd answered and told him she'd be up when he got back. He was anxious to see her. He didn't like leaving her behind and he wasn't sure he was going to do it again, even if Crowley was with them. He also hadn't liked the way her voice sounded on the phone – strained and tired.

He threw his bags into their room as he passed it, shaking his head at the giggles coming from Sam and Shannon's room. God, he hoped he and Amie weren't that loud and annoying when they were in the privacy of their room. He hurried past their door, wanting to hear as little as possible of his brother's love life.

He entered the library silently, as seemed to be his habit. Amie was sitting at the table, her back to him. There was an open beer bottle sitting next to her, as well as several empty ones scattered around the table. She was resting her head on her hand while she flipped through the pages of an old ledger and scribbled notes on a pad of paper. As Dean watched, she set her pen down and scrubbed a hand down her face, then took a drink from the beer. He stepped up behind her, his big hands going to her shoulders. He could feel the tension in her muscles.

"Hey baby," he said, leaning over and kissing the top of her head.

She turned to look at him and he was startled to see dark, bruise-like circles under her eyes. They stood out in sharp contrast to her extremely pale skin. He immediately dropped to his knees beside her, his arms sliding around her waist.

"Hey, have you slept at all?" he asked, his concern for her pushing all other thoughts from his mind.

Amie shook her head. "Um, no, not really," she mumbled. "I can't sleep when you're gone."

He ran his hand up her neck and into her hair, pulling her down until he could kiss her. She clutched at him, her hands twisted in his shirt. Her kiss was desperate and needy, as if she couldn't get enough of his touch. When she wrapped her hands around his neck, Dean hissed in shock. Her hands were ice cold. He pulled away from her, staring into her eyes. She stared back at him, her eyes almost lifeless.

"What the hell?" he growled. "What is going on? Is there something you're not telling me?"

Amie's head dropped, her eyes refusing to meet his. "The nightmare…it's getting worse. If I fall asleep, it starts right away. Mary Grace crying, me running, trying to find her. It's tearing me apart." She looked up and her blue eyes were filled with tears, they were spilling over her long lashes and flowing down her cheeks. "I don't want to sleep. I can't. It's killing me that I can't help our baby girl." Her head dropped to Dean's shoulder, her own shoulders shaking with the sobs tearing through her.

All Dean could do was hold her. He ran his hands up and down her back as she cried, doing his best to soothe her. This was why he needed to find Abaddon and kill her, this was why Metatron needed to be stopped. He couldn't stand to see Amie in pain, suffering the way she was. The only way he knew how to fix it was to kill the monsters who had caused this.

When Amie's sobs became nothing but quiet sniffles, he stood up and sat in the chair next to her. He held her hands in his, rubbing them repeatedly, trying to warm them up.

"I'm sorry," she whispered without looking at Dean.

"For what?" he asked, his voice low. He ran his hand over her hair, pushing it away from her face. "For missing our daughter? For not sleeping? What could you possibly be sorry for?"

"I'm sorry I lost it, that I let you see me like that," she insisted. "You don't need that…burden…along with everything else. The Mark, Abaddon, everything…." Her words trailed off.

Dean wrapped his hand under chin and pulled her face up until she was looking at him. "You are never a burden, baby," he murmured against her lips as he kissed her. "Do you understand me?"

Amie nodded weakly, then she crawled into his lap, her arms sliding around his neck. He, in turn, wrapped his arms around her waist, under the edge of her shirt, and took her lips with his, his tongue probing her mouth. She sighed and pressed herself against him. They stayed like that, just the two of them, for quite a while, until eventually Amie pushed herself off of Dean's lap. He groaned in frustration.

"Where are you going?" he said, reaching out and snatching her hand.

She grinned at him and pressed a kiss to the palm of his hand. "I'm just going to get some water," she assured him. "I'll be right back."

After she left the room, Dean grabbed the notebook Amie had been writing in, curious to see what she had been researching. He read over her notes, comparing it to the information in the book she'd been reading. She'd been researching the veil and it looked as if she was trying to figure out how to cross into the veil and bring someone out.

"Oh, baby, no," he mumbled under his breath as he read through her notes. The only way to go into the veil was to die and there was no way in hell he was going to let that happen. He scrubbed a hand down his cheek and licked his lips nervously. What the fuck was she thinking?

When he heard the sound of footsteps coming down the hall, he put the notebook back where it had been and turned to see who it was.

Sam stuck his head around the corner. "I'm going to talk to Crowley," he said. "I want to see if he knows of any Men of Letters that lived after the attack from Abaddon." He glanced around the room. "Where's Amie?" he asked.

"Getting water," Dean replied. "I'll come with you." He stood up just as Amie came back into the library.

"Where are you going?" she asked.

"Talk to Crowley," he responded. As he started to leave, he noticed Amie going right back to her research. He needed to distract her. "Why don't you come with us?" he asked. It seemed to be the best way to distract her from the ideas she was obviously contemplating. If he had her help them with the search for the Blade, maybe she'd give up any thoughts about going into the veil to get their daughter.

"Really?" she said, surprise on her face. "Um, okay." She took a long drink of the bottle of water she'd brought from the kitchen.

He took her hand and pulled her after him as he followed Sam to the dungeon where Crowley was currently housed. Amie's hands were still cold and he still didn't like how pale she was or how tired she looked, but he was determined to get her mind on something else besides Mary Grace.

Dean flipped the light on and entered the room. Crowley was tied to a chair in the center of a large devil's trap. He blinked several times when the light came on, then he smiled, his eyes roaming across the three people standing in front of him.

"Turndown service?" Crowley purred. "I'd like a mint on my pillow."

He and Sam walked just to the edge of the demon's trap, Amie just behind him holding his hand. Dean saw Crowley's eyes crawling over her and it took what little self-control he still had not to beat the shit out of the demon for it.

"What do you know about the Men of Letters massacre of 1958?" Sam asked.

"We know Abaddon missed our grandfather and Larry Ganem?" Dean said. "Was there anybody else?"

"Let me get this straight," Crowley grumbled. "You keep me locked up in this closet, ignore my suffering, and then come barging in here and demand my help?"

"Suffering?" Amie snorted from behind Dean, earning her a dirty look from Crowley.

"More or less, yeah," Dean replied as he squeezed Amie's hand.

"Did I or did I not keep my end of the bargain the other night?" Crowley nearly shouted. "Quite brilliantly, I might add. We are partners! And you owe me!"

"Owe you?" Sam asked incredulously.

This time, Crowley did shout. "I wouldn't be in this mess if it wasn't for you two. You shot me up. You made me a junkie. You keep me stashed away for months while my kingdom falls apart!"

Dean knew they wouldn't get anything out of the former king of hell if they didn't give him something. He was being too big of a baby. "What do you want?" he finally asked.

A grin spread across Crowley's face, one that made Dean's skin crawl more than usual. Instinctively, he tightened his grip on Amie's hand, fearing the answer would be something involving his girlfriend.

Twenty minutes later, Crowley was seated in the library with a scotch in his hand and a disgusted look on his face. "It's not very good scotch is it?" he asked.

Dean saw Amie kick the demon's chair, jostling him slightly. He chuckled quietly to himself, then returned to reading the file in his hand.

"Okay, Crowley, we have gone through the records for the entire membership in 1958," Sam explained. "Every single name matches the men who were killed."

"That would be active membership, correct?" Crowley asked as he flipped through a copy of Busty Asian Beauties.

Dean looked up at Sam, his irritation clear on his face. His brother rolled his eyes. Amie dropped the file she was reading to the table with a sigh of exasperation.

"Were you two dropped on your heads a great deal?" Crowley mumbled. "Like I told you, rumor has it that a rogue member was tossed out on his arse. Does that make him 'active?' Seriously, boys, how did you ever function without me?" He returned his attention to the magazine in his hands. "Well, hello Miss Ichigatsu…."

Amie made a puking sound, earning her yet another glare from the demon. She shrugged and shot him a smile, one of her 'fuck off' grins that Dean loved so much, unless of course it was directed at him.

Dean shook his head as he picked up a box labeled 'Infamati et obliterate' which he read out loud as he set it on the table.

"Dishonored and forgotten," Crowley said helpfully.

Dean started digging through the box, pulling files out and setting them on the table. Sam started divvying them up between the three hunters while Amie moved to a seat next to Dean. She slipped off her shoes, curled her legs under herself and opened one of the files Sam had given her.

"Look for anything that might be useful – you'll probably know it when you see it," Sam instructed, opening a file from his own stack.

Dean slipped his hand through the rungs of Amie's chair and put his hand on her thigh. She intertwined her fingers with his and gave him a smile.

"You know Amie love, you could do so much better," Crowley crooned from behind them.

"Shut up," Dean growled. "Or you can go back in your hole."

"I'm just trying to make conversation," the demon said quietly.

"Well don't," Dean mumbled. "Leave her alone."

"Touchy, aren't we lover boy?" Crowley taunted. "Or jealous?"

Dean opened his mouth to say something, anything to get the former King of Hell to close his mouth, but Amie squeezed his hand. When he looked at her, she shook her head, then leaned over and gave him a long, lingering kiss. Sam snickered from the other side of table, while Crowley grunted, obviously irritated. Dean felt Amie giggle against his lips before returning to the file she was reading. He followed suit, hoping the sight of Amie kissing him would shut Crowley up for a while.

Dean was about halfway through his stack of files when he finally came across something that had potential. "Wow, this guy was something," he said as he handed the paper to Sam.

"Tough name," Sam snorted.

"Yeah, Cuthbert Sinclair," Dean agreed. "I'd have just gone with Magnus."

"Looks like he designed most of the warding that keeps the bunker safe," Sam pointed out.

Dean pointed to the papers in his hand. "Says here he was named 'Master of Spell' right after he was initiated."

"I guess his work got a little crazy," Sam said. "The leadership called it 'eccentric' and 'irresponsible.'"

"K, so these are the projects that he proposed the last two years he was here," Dean muttered, flipping through a stack of files near his elbow. "Look at this – rejected, rejected, rejected."

"So difficult – brilliant, ahead of your time, despised for it," Crowley interjected. "Trust me, I know."

Dean rolled his eyes and picked up another paper from the file. "Formal separation from Men of Letters – April 1956," he read.

Sam's head popped up at Dean's words. "He missed the massacre."

"I never knew his name," Crowley said, his eyes never leaving the Busty Asian Beauties magazine he was still perusing. "But I heard someone was out. Did my damnedest to find him. Thought he might be my way inside this joint."

Dean gave Sam a knowing look.

"So where'd you look?" Sam asked.

Leaving Amie behind this time had not even been an option. As soon as Crowley had agreed to take them to the last place he'd tracked this Sinclair guy to, Dean had known he'd have to let her come. While he preferred keeping her on lockdown in the bunker, where he knew she was safe, she wasn't about to be left behind again.

"No," she'd said before he could even open his mouth to suggest she stay in the bunker, a knowing look on her face. "Uh-uh, I'm going. I'm not staying here again, Dean. I can't."

One look at her face and he'd known that he wouldn't leave her. He couldn't. She needed him and he needed her with him. He'd just have to be extra diligent with her coming along. And keep her away from Crowley.

Now the four of them were walking through a decent sized forest. Dean had Amie behind him, as far from Crowley as he could get her. When they stepped out into a clearing, he turned to the demon.

"So this is where your demons tracked him?" he asked.

"Exact spot," Crowley replied, looking over his shoulder at the Winchesters. "My boys never could find him." He paused for a minute before continuing. "I'm sensing nothing, so if he's here, he's warded up to the gills."

"Well, he's a genius at it, right?" Sam replied. "Sure as hell ain't gonna be found by a bunch of demons."

"Oh, like he's gonna open his heart to you lot," Crowley grumbled. "Because you're such prizes."

"Better," Dean answered. "We're legacies." He pushed past the cantankerous demon, Amie in tow, and walked to the center of the clearing. He turned and looked at his brother. "Alright, if he's so bent on hiding, maybe he's watching. Give it a shot."

"Cuthbert Sinclair – uh, Magnus – whatever," Sam called into the air. "We're Sam and Dean Winchester, Henry Winchester's grandsons."

"And Men of Letters, ourselves," Dean added.

"We know what happened back in the day," Sam continued. "We don't necessarily agree with it. We figured…maybe you want to tell your side of the story."

They waited a couple of minutes, watching the clearing carefully. When nothing happened, they turned back to Crowley. Dean felt Amie tug on his hand just as Crowley pointed over their shoulders, indicating something behind them.

A smoky doorway had risen from the ground behind them. The boys exchanged a look, then walked forward toward the door. Dean closed his eyes, tightened his grip on Amie's hand and stepped through it, alongside his brother. Just as they crossed into the doorway, he felt her hand slip out of his. When he opened his eyes, he and Sam were standing in an extremely posh hallway. Amie was gone.

"Son of a bitch," Dean growled. "Where the fuck did she go?" He looked around, desperately trying to stay calm, despite the fact that Amie had seemingly disappeared. "You've got to be kidding me!"

"It's okay, Dean, she's probably back in the clearing," Sam said, clapping a hand to a hand to his brother's shoulder. "She'll be fine."

"Yeah, but she's alone with Crowley," Dean grumbled. "Let's get this over with, the sooner we get out of here, the sooner I can make sure she's okay." He would just have to hope Amie was still in the clearing. Right now, they needed to find this Magnus guy.

"Which way?" Sam asked.

Dean motioned to the right and they proceeded down the hallway. They had just come around a corner and past a staircase when two vampires appeared, trapping the brothers between them. The female vampire attacked Sam, jumping on his back, while the male vampire went after Dean.

Dean blocked an attack, pulled his machete and decapitated him. He was just turning to help Sam when the younger Winchester killed the female vampire.

Suddenly, an intercom clicked on and the sound of clapping could be heard, along with a man's voice.

"Bravo! Well done!" floated from the air around them, freezing them in place.

"Shit, what now?" Dean wondered.