Sam was a bit off, but Abigail accredited that to being in the Cage for the past year. He was intent on hunting, on jumping back into it all with the two of them. They had come across a suspicious-sounding article in the paper. Dean said it was right up their alley, but for some reason Sam was reluctant to follow the trail. He seemed to have something on his mind, something more important he wanted to accomplish. But eventually he gave in.

Sitting in the newest motel room that served as HQ, Sam was trying to narrow down the options as to why people were disappearing in this city. The only connection he had found between all victims was that they all had kids, but even the kids were different ages. Abigail had left hours ago to get some files from the police. It was long dark when she returned. Sam lifted his head from the laptop.

"Sorry," I lost track of time," she smiled apologetically, pulling off her coat. Not long after, Dean entered the room. A visible look of relief passed over his features as he exhaled.

"Abby, where were you?"

"How many times am I going to have to say this? I'm sorry. I can take care of myself," she rolled her eyes.

"I know you can, but people are going missing. That's why we are here in the first place. Besides, it's my job to worry about you." He placed a light kiss on her lips. She smiled against him. He took hold of her left hand and examined the fingers. "Where's your ring?"

"I don't want to lose it. It was your mom's and if something happened-it got lost or broken- I would feel absolutely horrible. I think I'll take it off for hunts, if that's okay?"

He pursed his lips. "I suppose. But I like you wearing it. How else will people know you're mine?" She kissed the corner of his mouth.

"Like this."

Abigail woke up with a start. She was on a cold floor, in a dark and cramped space. The cell was no larger than five-by-five dimensions with a roof just as low. Iron bars stood between her and the door. Even if she could get through the bars, the door was concrete. Her wrists trailed ropes tied to either wall. They were tight, permitting her arms to move only about half a foot. She couldn't even reach her nose to scratch it. At least this monster knew enough to make sure a hunter wouldn't have an easy time getting free.

The shifter stood with arms crossed on the opposite side of the bars. It had taken on her appearance, had even stolen the jacket, necklace and shoes. The engagement ring was left untouched. She realized with satisfaction it was because of the silver. Despite how pointless it was, Abby pulled against the ropes.

"Relax. I am not going to do anything to you…yet." It was unnerving to see her own face smirk down at her. "Right now I have my eyes set on a bigger prize. You're not worth much; but the Winchesters… I will be rolling naked in cash."

"Don't you touch them!" she shouted.

"Oh, how cute," the shifter crooned.

"If you lay a finger on either of them I will kill you," she growled.

"Sure, honey. Sit tight!" Her mirror image locked the cage and slammed the cement door closed. A scream ripped her throat. She was alone and the boys had no idea she was gone.

It had been two days. The hunters sat discussing the case in a restaurant. Abigail leaned her elbows on the table, then abruptly pulled them into her lap. The boys didn't notice. She subtly checked her forearm, which had grazed the silverware. A small burn was present. She tugged her sleeve over it and pretended nothing had happened. She ordered a burger for dinner.

Sam and Abigail returned to the motel room while Dean went on a beer run. They entered and She discarded her coat on the vinyl floor, something Sam frowned at but didn't think much of. When he turned, she was standing startlingly close. She trailed a finger down his chest. "I don't know what I saw in Dean. He's a drunk with an inflated ego who can't stop staring at women even though he already has a girl; and he tries to cover up his pain and hurt to seem strong but is so broken inside it's a miracle he can even get up in the morning."

Sam stepped back and pulled her wrists away. "Abigail, you're drunk or something."

"I'm good. This is a new me. People change, Sam, and you can either accept it or be left behind." She took up a stance, hands on her waist, one hip cocked to the side. "I've changed. She slid an arm around his neck and tugged his head down. He tried to duck away but she was strong, holding his head in place while her lips moved against his ear. "You've always had a special place in my heart, Sam. I could make you happy; we can help each other move on." Sam grasped her by the arms and roughly held her at arm length. He didn't know what else to say other than "stop." This was not Abigail. But he was terrified it was. She only smiled—which infuriated Sam further—and moved forward, pressing her body against his larger one. It felt entirely wrong.

"Sam? Abigail?" Dean's arms hung limply by his sides. Hurt brimmed in his eyes and Sam saw the betrayal evident. He tried to explain what just happened but no words came. Abigail appeared unfazed.

"I suppose this is as good a time as ever: Dean, I'm done with you." That short line kicked Sam into action. His fist connected with her face and she reeled backward. She was out cold before she hit the ground. He turned to his older brother.

"Let me explain," he stammered.

Dean's pain was barricaded behind a wall of anger. The anger helped keep him safe from any more hurt. "Oh, you had better have a good excuse!" he yelled. All Sam could really say was that it was not Abigail, but did not have much information to back it up. The older man stared at his fiancé. He watched with silence and crossed arms as Sam secured the unconscious girl and performed the tests: holy water, salt, silver. The knife left a blistering burn.

Dean lost it then.

He lunged toward the still-unconscious shape shifter, rage in his eyes. Sam jumped forward, caught his brother and struggled to hold him back.

"Let me at it!"

"Dean, calm down!"

"It killed Abigail!"

"Maybe not—we don't know that for sure. But we need it alive to tell us where she is." Slowly Dean stopped fighting; but his muscles never uncoiled. Sam doubted himself. What if it had killed Abigail? Then what would they do? Dean might never recover from something like that. But he was also relieved, because that meant it had not been Abigail trying to make a move on him. He loved her, but never like that. She was Dean's girl. She was his sister; no more, no less.

The shifter groaned and lifted its head, unfazed by the bonds. Sam leaned against a wall and Dean twirled a silver knife on the table. Noticing the monster was awake he stood. His frame towered over it.

"I am giving you one chance to tell me where she is. Or so help me I will make Hell seem like a trip to Disneyland." Not-Abigail grinned.

"Dean Winchester really does have a soft spot. You can't protect her from everything; she's going to slip right between your fingers one day." Dean dug the knife into the left thigh and felt satisfaction at the monster's grunt.

"I am not asking again."

"Give it your best shot."

"You are almost as cocky as demons. I hate demons," Dean growled. Sam left to search for Abigail, while Dean continued his interrogation. When Sam's ringtone buzzed, older Winchester wiped his hands before picking up the phone. "Go ahead, I'll wait," the shifter assured him. He glared at the bruised and swollen face and barked into the phone, "Tell me you found something." Sam's hesitation was answer enough.

"No, not yet," he admitted. "What about you?"

Dean turned back to the broken and bloody shifter. Even though he reminded himself it was not Abigail, that did not stop the guilt at seeing her body in that condition and knowing it was his hands that had inflicted the punishment. "Nothing."

"Dean, it's a waste of time," Sam said. His brother either did not hear or refused to listen. "Give it a rest. We need to be looking for her."

"That's what you're doing."

"And I haven't found anything! I'm on my way back and we can regroup. Don't do anything stupid," he said before hanging up. Dean faced the shifter, the two of them once again left alone. Despite the general air of cockiness exuded by monsters, this one had the smallest trace of apprehension. And Dean Winchester could smell fear.

Sam entered and found the shape shifter with a silver knife through the heart. He lifted his palms in question. Dean shrugged, wiping the other instruments of torture clean. Sam shook his head. Most people overlooked it, but they were borderline psychotic. And this was a prime example.

"Okay, I checked its hideout and every sewer for miles. Nothing."

"She's got to be here somewhere, Sam." Desperation mingled with Dean's words.

"I know, and we'll find her. Shifters normally keep their victims alive, right? So she's out there." At least he hoped so. Sam produced a map of the city and they flattened it out. He marked red X's where he had already looked. "If this is where he was, and this is where his other victims went missing, then I think Abigail is somewhere around here," he pointed to the industrial sector of town. "But there's nowhere here that would be a good hideout." Dean rubbed his chin and squinted.

"Let's look again."

Dean flipped his phone closed in frustration. "Her backup phone isn't working, either."

"We'll find her," Sam said.

He slammed his palm against the steering wheel. "What if we don't? She could be dead, Sam, or worse."

"We have to," Sam said quietly. The rest of the drive was silent as the speedometer needle rose. Sam frowned when Dean abruptly stopped and reversed the Impala. He looked out the window.

"There." Dean pointed to the tailor's shop across Main Street. The pieces began clicking in Sam's head. At one house they had visited, a little boy was running around in his costume for the school play when he tripped and took a faceplant. His mom had assured them he was fine, they just needed to hem the cloak. The next day, the mom went missing. At another house, where a teenage girl was nowhere to be found, the daughter's newly-altered prom dress hung in the hall. The shifter had been posing as Citizen Tailor. Since nobody suspected the tailor to be missing, no one had snooped around his shop. There must be a storage room or hidden chamber where Abigail could be stowed away without visitors seeing or hearing the captive woman.

Dean didn't bother with picking the lock. He simply kicked the door open. They swept the front room, behind and under the counter, in the closet. The basement was empty, too. The boys began tearing the shop apart, searching for a door or trap under a rug. Anything.

"Dean, I think I've found something," Sam called upstairs to his brother. He was squatting, tracing marks on the floor where it looked like something heavy had been drug. A shelf containing sewing machines and rolls of fabric was pressed against the wall. Together, they pulled it away. A narrow door was carved into the concrete.

Abigail heard muffled shuffling from the other side of the door. She tugged at the ropes binding her wrists. The shifter had been gone for a while. Now it was back. The door banged open and Dean came into view. It was a trick. He picked the lock and dropped to his knees before her. She kicked out, catching him in the stomach. He caught her foot as she tried again. "Abby, it's me. Look." He held up a silver blade and ran it across his forearm. "See?"

"Dean," she dared to hope.

He repeated as he cut her bindings, "Oh baby, I am so sorry, I'm so sorry." She flung herself into his arms. He held her tightly. "I thought you weren't coming back for me," she choked into his shirt.

"I've got you, you're safe now," he promised. Sam had to nearly bend in half to enter the cell. When he saw she was indeed safe and alive he closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. She saw and reached toward him. He scooped her into his embrace and hugged her tightly. She was a bit thinner than the last time he saw her. Her hair was a rat's nest, grime and dirt coated her head-to-toe. Her tank top and jeans were torn and smeared with what he hoped was just dirt.