Chapter Three: Around noon on August 16th, 2006

– June 29th, 1994

»I never expected that the day would come when I'd actually think twice about harming a supernatural being. Then again, the possibility of parting with one of those creatures in peace never really crossed my mind before. I somehow doubt that any of the other hunters would even consider such an option.«

»When tracking those bastards down, one rarely stops to ask questions — well, unless there is some sort of unresolved hostage situation.«

»The only explanation I can think of is that monsters only catch our attention when they earn themselves a reputation bad enough to warrant their death. No one cares about those who just crawl out into the open as long as they stay out of trouble and mind their own business.«

»But supernaturals who go after their own kind? That sounds more like a bedtime story for kids; something that's just too good to be true. And I for one have witnessed far too much evil to believe that there might be something out there to even try and counterweight all of that — apart from us hunters, that is.«

»However, if there is anything even remotely close to 'good' —or more like a gray thing in-between— I'd say it's Elizabeth Greene. She ain't the type I'd allow anywhere near my boys, but what I did to her just wasn't right. I should have told her about that plan before it almost got her killed. Especially after everything she did in order to help me with the case, and the pointers she gave me for tracking demons. It would have been the right thing to do. And yet, in the end, I just couldn't resist the opportunity to literally kill two birds with one stone.«

»So, I set the trap for the water spirit and used her as bait, knowing that she probably wouldn't make it. Just like how she knew from the very beginning what I was actually planning to do. Stubborn woman just went along with it to make sure nobody else got hurt.«

»Just what kind of supernatural creature would care about that?«

»Because, to be honest, I still have not even the slightest clue just what she is. Or what she's capable of. Like her British accent hints, she has this weird reaction all creatures from the Isles have to cream and she's definitely allergic to most materials that ward of monsters, though they aren't really fatal to her. If there is such a thing as 'her kind' though, it's by far the weirdest sort I've ever met.«

— John Winchester, the unedited journal entry on Eilís from the summer of 1994

Apparently, there was no further need for subtlety once you became the ruler of your very own underworld realm, or so it would seem. But then again, Hel had never quite understood why everyone felt so inclined to pussyfoot around each other most of the time. Especially humans. After all, one could only judge so many mortal souls before the unreasonable amount of missed opportunities and subsequent regrets started to give you a serious migraine.

Similar to this stupid ongoing fight between Eilís and Loki.

Of course, some had argued that it was about time for those two troublemakers to eventually tire of frolicking around the world together — tricking gods, spirits and humans alike. There might have actually been some more serious attempts during the last century to properly discourage them from ever doing this or that again. (Especially that, if the Asian fraction had any say in this matter.)

Hel herself had been on the receiving end of their pranks more times than she cared, but this —this 'not talking, no longer smiling' thing— certainly wasn't the kind of compromise she'd been hoping for. Not to mention that the Norse goddess had absolutely no desire to drag her surrogate father's ass out of all those sketchy situations that her little sister would usually just ward off with that ridiculous charm of hers.

So... Yes, Hel might secretly consider Eilís to be the most adorable thing in the whole universe.

Another —decidedly more reluctant— yes to admitting that it was probably about time for Loki's youngest foundling to finally find a place of her own.

And yes, Hel did realize that she might have never truly appreciated Eilís' efforts to keep the Trickster in line so far.

She did feel bad about that. Especially because now —with her baby sister gone— it was her who had to put up with Loki's crap 24/7.

And Hel really didn't have the time for this.

Or the patience.

Or the necessary sensitivity...

The only thing she knew for sure was that it drove her positively insane. So, when one thing led to another, Hel ended up making a rather dramatic entrance in the middle of Sioux Falls, South Dakota — tearing through time and space with enough force to set off several car alarms within a one-mile radius.

It was rather satisfying to see the patrons of a nearby coffee shop peer out from under their sunshades to search for the cause; their eyes blindly dismissing the casually dressed business woman who now purposefully strode past them. Those fools.

If anyone did glance her way, they did so because the pitch-black hair of her vessel trailed behind her as if it was made of shadow itself.

Eilís had insisted that she'd leave it that way because it would help with her street cred,or whatever she'd called it. Similarly to how Hel had kept this vessel for far longer than their kind deemed appropriate only to appease the Irish being. After all, her sister had grown strangely fond of it. (And also, because the memory of how Eilís had just kept nudging and frowning at Loki for months after he had helped himself to a new look was still fresh on her mind.)

Refocusing on the clicking sound of her heels, Hel simply ignored the susurrus caused by the startled souls around her. She knew from experience that it wouldn't take those mortals too long before they'd get back to their iced coffees and post lunch espressos; making up silly scenarios to explain the inexplicable.

The gentle buzz of her phone prompted the goddess to save the mockery as she flipped it open to find the confirmation of one of her assistants.

SCHEDULE CLEARED; NEXT APPT IN 43 MIN VESTMANNA, FØROYAR

That left her with less than three-quarters of an hour to make sure that the blond woman sitting at one of the furthest tables of the coffee shop would take Loki off her hands once again.

So, without even bothering to apply any common form of civility, Hel just slipped into the seat opposite of Eilís — taking one glance at her before getting straight to the point, "Dad's been asking what you're up to."

Judging by the slight inclination of her head, Eilís wasn't all that surprised to see the ruler of the Norse afterworld. She must have sensed her then; probably even before the car alarms tipped her off. After all, Hel had tapped into their bond as sworn sisters to locate her current whereabouts.

"I told him that —last I knew— you were still staying with that pompous Greek skitstövel."

Eilís' prompt and rather involuntary reply was to inelegantly snort through the straw of her drink — the traitorous bubbles causing some cheerful clinking amongst ice cubes of her drink.

In Eilís' defense, it wasn't very often that Hel actually resorted to one of the very few swearwords in her vocabulary. And it most certainly didn't help that the dark-haired goddess steadfastly refused to update them as the centuries went by. Yet, despite the absurdity of hearing such words out of a death goddess' mouth, the blonde didn't feel like teasing her for it. Especially because pompous Greek skitstövel happened to be one of the nicer names Hel had bestowed upon Hades.

After one last calming sip to gather her wits, Eilís finally set down her glass; her now free hands swiftly moving in the line of Hel's piercing glare.

'I have to admit that cashing in those seven souls just seconds before the centenary evaluation was a bit underhanded of him... But don't you think that this strange competition of yours is getting slightly out of hand?'

"Hades only beat me because of that oh so convenient bus accident! Tourists always mess up my statistics" Hel hissed without even attempting to lower her volume, causing some of the humans to turn and stare at her.

Just one look from the Norse goddess and their conversation became private once again. There was just something about the truth of death whispering from the depth of Hel's bottomless eyes that made others perfectly uncomfortable.

Stupid mortals.

Of course, Hel knew how the two of them looked like together. One had to be blind to not immediately notice the stark contrast between them. Eilís radiated light, warmth and cheerfulness — while Hel was a shadow to her brightness; rough and alien to most human emotions. And yet, Loki had always referred to both of them as his favorite girls. Even after Hel had signed up with Death and her little sister became the Trickster's favorite travel companion.

If it weren't for her apathetic nature, Hel might have begrudged the two of them the freedom they shared just between themselves. Sometimes it felt like they had developed their own language — made of knowing looks, small gestures and the affectionate consideration of each other's quirks. They just clicked. Always had, in fact.

After all, their adventurous nature wasn't necessarily born out of Loki's whims. What really pushed them was Eilís' constant need to keep moving — a notion so unlike their kind.

»Well, aren't you being awfully uncute« Loki had gently admonished Hel when she'd first mentioned it to him. »Especially since I do seem to remember a certain baby goddess who'd wail each night until I took her to Japan so that she could stuff her face with mochi. Considering that my little Betsy says please and thank you, ya might wanna cut down on that envy thing you got going there, sweets. Not very pretty. After all, I do spoil all of you relentlessly.«

And it was true that —although Eilís belonged to the last batch born from old magia— her years hardly stretched over a fifth of the time Hel had spent slipping through the realms of this world.

In the end, however, it still didn't change the fact that Hel had long ago decided that Eilís just burned a bit too bright for a being designed to face eternity; her appetite for life easily rivaling Loki's sweet tooth.

Even right now her sister had to practically tear her eyes away from the everyday buzz of those boring creatures. And when she met Hel's dark gaze with the familiar twitch of her button nose, the dark-haired goddess knew that they had finished dancing around the actual subject of her visit.

'How long do you think before he comes to find me?'

"If he's not in the mood to annoy someone else for a change, I'd say about a couple of days" the goddess offered, crossing both her arms and legs when a waitress neared their desk — Eilís pointing on something she wanted from the menu.

Hel's eyes meanwhile wandered to the elegant watch on her own wrist — a befittingly simple design with a face of svabite; a mineral that could be found in Sweden and fluoresced beautifully in the presence of unattached souls. The timepiece was specifically designed to remind Hel that she was actually supposed to have a break every once in a while. It also happened to be a present from the person who now grinned at her with those ridiculous dimples on her face. Hel sighed.

She could probably stay a bit longer. She still had 33 minutes before her presence was required on the Faeroe Islands.

"Here's your cake, as per request with extra sprinkles and cream" the waitress announced as she returned to place a pink heap in front of Eilís. Her sister actually bothered to thank the awfully plain human thing with a bright smile before she casually pushed the plate towards Hel.

The ruler of the Norse underworld only raised her dark browns at the blonde who now comfortably leaned forward with her chin propped on one hand; her smirk just as sugary as the slice of cake — which probably consisted to 90% of just icing.

"Why are you bribing me?"

'Why is it that you always assume the worst?'

"Would you prefer me to list the reasons alphabetically or rather in chronological order?" Hel asked dryly, one finger toying with the handle of the fork.

Eilís just rolled her eyes at such dramatics before pointing out, 'You looked like you could use an actual break.'

Reluctantly Hel lifted the small fork, cautiously digging it into the soft pink cream. Glancing one last time at Eilís, she lowly threatened, "Not a single word to anyone" before taking the first bite.

The instant sugar rush through her vessel's system felt like a wonderful dose of magia — strong, addictive and so very sweet. However, thanks to this distraction Hel failed to notice how the expression of Eilís' eyes turned just that much softer and maybe a tad bit sad.

Blinking once, Hel remembered to inquire, "How is your research going? Did you find anything worth the trouble?"

'Just some amusing anecdotes that have been hilariously misinterpreted by the authors.'

"Why stay then?" Hel inquired, leveling a curious look at her sister. "You don't have to prove anything to us. We will always remain loyal to you, sister." Not having expected Liz face to soften the way it did, Hel's attention dropped to her plate. "Or did you take the mortal as your lover?"

Although the goddess failed to see the humor in her last question, Eilís actually chocked a bit on her iced tea.

Correctly interpreting her reaction as a 'no', Hel quickly moved on to the next question, "If he isn't your lover then why don't you find someone else to aid you with the research? Someone who won't just snap like a twig when dad finally tracks you down. You know he doesn't like you getting close to humans... a hunter no less."

The thought of Loki harming her mortal apparently hadn't crossed Eilís mind until the goddess pointed it out — if the frown now marring her face served as an indication.

"I'm sure he wouldn't kill him, but it might be better if you just said your goodbyes sooner rather than later" Hel advised, feeling not the slightest bit guilty about pushing Eilís to part with her little friend.

She wouldn't allow her sister to hurt like that again. Not after what had happened the last time she foolishly trusted one of those pathetic creatures.

Having finished her cake in record time, the Norse goddess carefully wiped her face to make sure that nothing would betray her own penchant for sugar. No-one should ever be able to say that she took after her surrogate father in this regard. Or any regard for that matter.

'They are good people' Liz argued; her fingers twitching protectively around the words.

Suddenly the goddess's eyes sharpened on Eilís, the pleasant warmth of her sugar high easily replaced with apprehension, "They? You're staying with more than just the one of their sort?"

' … They will help me find answers.'

A soft breeze carelessly tugged on some strands of Hel's jet-black hair to reveal that her perfectly controlled expression had slipped. Trying to pinpoint where her sister's attentions lay, Hel splayed her fingers on the surface of the desk to sort through the feelings that began surfacing at the blonde's insistence.

"For all this time you were content with the place given to you, Eilís. Why have you suddenly decided to seek answers now?" The goddess' voice still seemed carefully detached despite her obvious irritation. "If this search for a family should be your way of telling us that we are no longer enough for you, I'd rather you'd be frank with me. I do not care for being strung along just to prove a point."

Hel's words had obviously caught her sister off guard, yet the deity couldn't find it in herself to take off their edge. She wasn't someone who cared easily and sometimes she wished that she'd lost said ability a long time ago. It just didn't suit someone like her.

'Why would I need a second family when I've got my hands full dealing with just one?'

On any other day Hel would have gladly pointed out that Eilís was just as troublesome as the rest of their odd bunch — if not more. Today, however, the goddess left it at a decidedly unamused look which then prompted Eilís to pacify Hel with a few more hand signs, 'You know that I wouldn't trade you for anything in the world.'

"Is that so?"

Innocently widening her eyes —in a way that put all of Loki's attempts to shame— Eilís cheekily added, 'You will always be my favorite sister — just like Fenny will always be a good boy.'

With a scoff Hel thought of how their brother Fenrir did indeed permit Eilís to coo at him just like humans felt inclined to do with their ridiculously overbred canine companions. But then again, she wasn't in the position to judge the great Fenris-wolf for humoring their littlest family member.

After all, they were all strangely indulgent to their ugly duckling – Loki's words, not hers.

But now that they had broached the subject, Eilís finally felt brave enough to ask about what had been bugging her ever since the first wave of Hel's numbing magia had startled her out of her thoughts.

'How is he?'

And there it was.

The one question Hel had dreaded as much as she'd expected it. After all it wasn't like Eilís could actually stay properly mad with Loki for extended periods of time.

"He has proven to be even more of nuisance without you around" Hel admitted — both of them aware that the Norse goddess couldn't help the fondness for her father figure, regardless of how often she complained about his many quirks.

Pushing some of her long strands behind her shoulder, the goddess sighed briefly, "Since I couldn't help but notice that you didn't turn up, I made the connection even before the news of your... split-up spread across the realms."

While Eilís still couldn't quite yet decide how to react to this, Hel already moved on.

"I think I get the idea. Loki messed up, didn't he?" Hel plainly stated, her eyes refusing to leave Eilís heart shaped face. "He has done it before, but you've always forgiven him. Only that this time it couldn't be fixed by him snapping his fingers... So, he must have done something that made you question your trust in him."

It wouldn't have been Hel if she hadn't at least pointed out one uncomfortable truth of which the listener would rather not be reminded of.

Just because the goddess found emotions more often confusing than enlightening, she wasn't necessarily blind to them. Her analyses were always based on what she saw and after Loki had practically forced her to put up with his antics for the last couple of months, she had wanted confirmation.

"So?"

With one shuddering breath Eilís leant back in her seat, her finger running over the frayed seam of her big coat. 'It's more like we decided to take a small break. He... he kept something important from me and I, in turn, might have fussed over details he considered trivial.'

"And those trivialities weren't by any chance… humans?" Hel almost spit out the last word, locking her frown with Eilís equally disapproving stare. "You do that quite a lot. Whatever did they do to deserve such devotion?"

'It's our job to care for them.'

Hel shook our head, "No, Eilís. Our job is to ensure the natural order of things — and to find new ways in order survive the emancipation of human beliefs. If those mortals you so love won't wake up soon, we will all be rendered extinct."

If the mention of the Trickster had saddened her little sister, the sudden turn of the conversation now visibly upset Eilís — the gold in her eyes suddenly sparkling with a harsh mixture of disappointment and anger. It caused Hel to realize that maybe it wasn't the smartest choice to challenge her little sister when all she wanted was to send her back to Loki and the safety he provided.

After all, the goddess always felt greatly at loss when Eilís was hurting. She knew how to treat physical wounds — emotional pain on the other hand was something so awkwardly foreign to her. Like a strange mannerism that happened to be very bizarre and yet, at the same time strangely fascinating.

Just when the goddess' mind finally suggested to do something except staring, her phone buzzed.

REMINDER: NEXT APPT IN 5 MIN VESTMANNA, FØROYAR

"I have to leave" Hel announced, back to her usual clipped tone. Her expression however showed that she was clearly unhappy when she flipped her cell shut again.

Once she stood, a pair of warm arms wrapped themselves tightly around Hel's taller frame; the feeling of Eilís cozy magia leaving a slightly tingling sensations on her cooler skin. It served as a constant reminder that her little sister wasn't quite like anyone else — not that it had ever truly bothered Hel.

After all of this was so uniquely Eilís that the Norse goddess would always be able to take some comfort in it. Even if she always missed the right moment to hug her little sister back.

So, in the end, only her raspy voice showed an unusual soft quality when Hel whispered, "Stay brave, lítlasystir."

For one reason or another Bobby found himself standing on the stairs of his front porch as the boys started loading up the minivan — a cool beer in his hand and his watchful eyes on Dean.

Taking another sip from the bottle, the old hunter thought to himself that —even if Liz' plan had failed somewhat spectacularly a few days ago— she'd been right about at least one thing.

While Sam seemed to be about as optimistic as one could be under the given circumstances, Dean had just opted to bottle it all up. And by now the question wasn't so much about whether the boy would explode — it was actually the when that worried Bobby. By the looks of it, this time it sure promised to be ugly and the old hunter felt somewhat guilty for leaving Sam to deal with the aftermath.

"We're ditching this fucking monstrosity first chance we get!"

Oh right, and then there was that.

Narrowing his eyes at the older one, Bobby growled, "You better be shining with gratitude when you drive off with my car, Dean, or next time you'll be sure to walk to the next rental. Just suck it up, princess!"

"Why even bother with this pile of junk in the first place? 'bet it would be better off in pieces" Dean complained more or less unfazed by Bobby's threats. Maybe because he was still too busy glaring at the brown minivan with distaste written all over his face. It seemed like the vehicle personally offended him.

Already tasting the retort on his tongue, Bobby suddenly got distracted by the sight of his other house guest walking up the driveway.

When Liz had disappeared earlier that morning, Bobby had half expected her to be gone for at least a couple of weeks. One second, she had just stood in front of their research pin board and the next moment had her dressed in one of his old coats with a comment about needing some fresh air dancing around her fingers.

Now, eight hours later, Liz returned with a strangely thoughtful expression and... a bunch of radishes. Bobby wasn't quite sure which of the two additions on her actually did strike him as the odder one.

"Hey!" Dean called, seemingly unsure of what to make of her sullen mood either. "Where've you been all day?"

Blinking at the older Winchester, Liz actually considered his question for a moment as if she wasn't too sure herself. Then she titled her to one side.

"She's been in town" Bobby translated the one-handed signs the Irishwoman offered them.

Vegetables dangling off her arm like a strange additional limb, Liz reached with her free hand to touch the minivan.

This time the old hunter directly answered her instead of relaying her words to the boys, "Nah, they're just leaving for a couple of days."

For a short moment the blonde seemed to be at a loss for what to do, so she just stood there, pale hair loosely tucked in a knot at the base of her neck; Bobby's old coat still hanging off her shoulders like a rag.

This time it was apparently Dean's turn to exchange a long look with the salvage yard owner before he decided to do something about their glum little Miss Sunshine. Of course, he didn't actually plan to cheer her up. It was only because —in his opinion— her odd mood was strangely suspicious.

"Listen here, blondie" Dean planted himself in front of her. "We'll be back in no time so don't you get any funny ideas! If even one hair on Bobby's balding head should be missing, I will hunt you down — you got that?"

Behind their backs Sam and Bobby exchanged exasperated looks; the later taking a huge gulp of his beer to flush down any further comment on that.

Ever since they had been too tired to move after reducing Bobby's proud pot roast to ruins a few days earlier, there had been this strange truce between all of them — with Liz acting as its greatest defender. Whenever there was the need for her to play peacemaker she would try and lighten up the mood. Similar to how she had learned when to best give them some much needed space.

All in all, she'd been handling it pretty well despite the fact that their research still hadn't offered them even a single clue. Liz of course kept smiling — if only to annoy Dean. She apparently just couldn't help it and Bobby had to admit that it was surprisingly effective. But then again, she happened to be a supernatural being who, in her long lifetime, had probably learned how to cope with throwbacks. Even if she chose to do it by provoking the one hunter in her immediate vicinity who would be more than happy to take a shot at her.

"Bobby, what's she sayin'?" Dean pulled Bobby out from his thoughts, the Winchester's voice sounding borderline annoyed. From behind him a now gleeful Liz peeking out to send the older hunter a cheeky grin.

"She mentioned something about ordering stuff for your car. The spare parts you need to finish the repairs on the Impala, I'd guess" Sam helpfully provided after hefting their last bag into the trunk. He had noticed that Bobby wasn't really paying that much attention whenever they started bickering.

The surprise on Liz face however caused the younger Winchester to chuckle good-naturedly, "Thanks by the way, Liz. I just hope it wasn't too much trouble. And yes, I do understand some sign language. I took a course at Stanford for my quota in humanities classes."

At first Dean squinted at his brother with his mouth already opening; almost as if he had just thought of a smart comment he could make about his brother's reasons for picking such nerdy classes — but then he suddenly turned to the blond Irishwoman with something akin to confusion in his eyes.

"Who asked you to order anything?! How did you know even know— Did you snoop around my baby? Cause if you—" but he cut himself off because he once again noticed Liz tapping her fingers on the hood of the minivan. Only that she wasn't so much tapping but scratching instead. With one of her fingernails. "Hey creepy smiles! Mind explainin' just what the hell you think you're doing there?"

Just like during their memorable first encounter, Liz simply chose to ignore Dean's rude tone and instead bent down to gently blow on the strange symbols.

At first nothing happened. Dean almost dared to breathe again, when suddenly, without a warning, the van just shed its rusty exterior in an explosion of dust — creating a cloud of flying iron particles that glittered like fairy dust in the sun.

"What the–"

When Liz turned to Dean, there was a strangely peaceful look about her. A soft glow clinging to her human form before it eventually settled in her eyes; illuminating those small golden spatters in that odd mixture of greens.

Swallowing uncomfortably, Dean tore his gaze away and—

"Hooly shit!" he exclaimed when suddenly there was this sleek and upgraded version of the minivan standing right in front of them; the rust-heap from mere seconds ago gone and replaced by a new model.

It was like seeing the result of some sort of strange metamorphosis; as if this —admittedly less conspicuous— black design had been hidden beneath all that rust from the very beginning.

"Well, this might actually be useful" Dean admitted eventually before taking one step forward to touch the shiny dark metal like one might prod an electric fence in a game of dare. "Sweet... So, you can go around magicking stuff without any of that nasty witch crap?"

Encouraged by Dean's surprisingly positive train of thoughts, Liz easily complied with a simple nod.

"It's one of her glamour spells" Bobby supplied, stepping closer to run a finger along the frame of the right-side mirror. When Dean just stared at him, the hunter shrugged, "What'd ya expect, Dean? It's not like Liz's usually that shy about usin' her powers."

The implication behind those words caused Dean's jaw to clench — the 'Maybe she just doesn't want you pointing a gun at her whenever she so much as snaps her fingers' — was left hanging unsaid in the air.

With some exasperation Liz raised a finger to touch her own throat in question and when Bobby slowly nodded, she turned to Dean with raised brows and the salvage yard owner's snark on her tongue.

"Just so ye know, the first time I used me magia around Robert 'ere, he couldn't even look me in the eye for 'bout a week" the strong accent plus by the male voice coming out of her mouth got even Sam staring. Liz however was too busy keeping her own grin at bay to notice, "Jaysus, he had me laughin' fer hours 'cause when I set that wanker on fire, he just eeek'ed, can you imagine it? As if he'd actually choked a bit on his shriek—" the string of words suddenly broke off when Bobby flicked some of the iron dust in Liz' direction to shut her up.

While both Sam and Dean didn't bother to hide their growing smirks, Bobby ignored Liz' allergic sneezing fit in favor of noisily clearing his throat — almost as if he had to fit his own voice back in there before he could growl, "Just hit the road, will ya?"

Chuckling to himself Dean pulled the keys from his pocket and called after the now retreating form of the salvage yard owner, "Come on, Bobby, I don't believe that Liz was able to do you justice there. Surely you could squeak louder than that?"

Bobby didn't even bother looking over his shoulder when he called from the open front door, "How 'bout we find out what kinda sound you'll make when I finally strangle ya! And don't you idjits dare return without my van!"

They ditched the van two days later somewhere outside of Medford, Wisconsin. It was strange how this seemingly insignificant incident coincided with the very moment Dean had finally snapped.

Now, with his phone still clutched in one hand after he had called Ellen, Sam returned to where his brother waited for him with their bags; the license plates of Bobby's minivan carelessly sticking out of one of them.

Altogether it certainly didn't look like much — this gruff older brother looking a bit misplaced on this rural road with his arms crossed and the shapeless heap of their father's old army duffels to his feet.

To Sam, however, it was one of the things he'd always fight for — even if Dean's earlier words about Sam's efforts to keep their family together being 'too little and too late' still replayed inside his head.

Hoping to break the tense silence between them, Sam finally baited his brother with only one word.

"Rakshasa."

Right on cue, Dean scrunched up his face. "What's that?"

"Ellen's best guess" Sam shrugged, relieved that it had worked. "It's a race of ancient Hindu creatures. They appear in human form, they feed on human flesh, they can make themselves invisible, and they cannot enter a home without first being invited."

"One more thing for Bobby's pet monster to cross of her list then" Dean muttered humorlessly under his breath, shifting a little in his stance before he addressed the problem at hand, "So, they dress up like clowns, and the children invite them in..."

"Yeah."

Playing it over inside his head, Dean finally questioned, "Why don't they just munch on the kids?"

"No idea" Sam admitted, looking slightly uncomfortable about his only suggestion, "Not enough meat on the bones, maybe?"

Not one to dwell on the finer points of the monster's diets, Dean quickly moved on to his next question.

"What else'd you find out?"

As things turned out, they were all set for their hunt. They knew what to look for, whom to suspect and how to take care of him — if they were indeed right about their hunch.

Yet, for some reason Dean found himself picking up his own phone once they had made it back into town.

It was safe to say that Bobby wasn't all that impressed with their decision to ditch the minivan. But at least the salvage yard owner finally suggested that they'd find themselves a dagger made of pure brass once he'd finished his rant.

"Yeah, Ellen mentioned something like that to Sam" Dean agreed, still glad to have the second opinion of someone he trusted.

There was a moment of silence on the other end. "Ellen? Ellen Harvelle? ...You working with her now?"

"You know Ellen?"

"Don't sound too surprised, boy. The roadhouse ain't exactly a hush-hush location–" suddenly Bobby broke off in the middle of the sentence and immediately Dean felt something tighten uncomfortably in his stomach before... "–They're just dealing with a Rakshasa. Nothing the boys can't handle, Liz."

Thanks to the relief flooding his system Dean thought he might as well humor the odd pair of research partners, "Crazy pants got any suggestions?"

After another moment of silence, he could hear Bobby's scoff crackling through the connection, "Yeah, how about you guys just use that brass dagger. The alternative really ain't worth the mass destruction."

"Mass destruction?" Dean gruffly pressed with a frown.

"Just keep in mind that —should the brass dagger not work on that bastard— you'll have to somehow get a hold of an ancient weapon called Brahmastra... which does apparently make meteors rain."

Despite his firm resolution to call bullshit on anything that came out of Liz mouth —or, as in this case, the tips of her fingers— Dean couldn't help the involuntary twitch of his lips. He did ask, after all.

"Well, it's always good to have a backup plan."

It was nearing two in the morning when Bobby realized that something about Liz' behavior the last two days truly bothered him — still did, as a matter of fact. Otherwise he might have actually gotten an early night like Liz had suggested over dinner — at least instead of lying awake for hours to mull it all over.

There was just this last shred of doubt that always reared its ugly head whenever he felt that the Irishwoman was keeping something from him. Even years of friendship —formed thanks to an impressive number of successful hunts and countless afternoons spent just drinking tea— had not been able to change that.

Eilís was no more a hunter than he'd ever be able to go back from becoming one. Not much to change about that. But still...

By the time Bobby had told himself that he was plain paranoid, he'd already reached the landing of the stairs that would lead him downstairs. From where he stood —berating himself for even getting up— he could see the soft light pouring from the living room and he could hear something being stirred.

She must have gotten herself a refill of tea.

Inwardly sighing, Bobby contemplated returning to bed to see if he'd be able to actually get some much needed shut-eye.

A moment later, though, he made his way downstairs. After all, the thought of asking Liz to kindly fix him another cup suddenly sounded much more appealing than helping himself to some liquor.

Only that his request somehow stranded on his tongue when he reached the bottom of the stairs and finally caught sight of Liz kneeling on his living room floor — eyes impossibly wide at the sight of him, fingers covered in blood and a half-finished sigil shining on the floor boards before her.

They stared at each other for quite a bit, both frozen in shock. Soon, however, he found himself fighting the urge to interfere whatever was happening over there, whereas Liz still looked like a deer caught in the headlights.

Yet, instead of immediately accusing her, or maybe inquiring just WHAT THE HELL she thought she was doing to his living room floor, Bobby took a deep breath and slowly moved to the outer circle of the sigil.

With one glance at the huge maze of symbols, which Liz had apparently drawn in her own blood, he could tell that the few runes he recognized were all meant to be used for protection.

Noticing the spoon, she'd used to mix some ground herbs into the dark red concoction in the bowl sitting beside her, he now knew where the stirring sound had come from.

With a long-suffering sigh, Bobby crouched down to be on eye level with the blond supernatural, grumbling a bit before eventually asking, "Expecting someone?"

Finally sitting back with a sigh, Liz rubbed her forehead with the back of her hand, 'I'll explain everything, just... let me get cleaned up, alright?'

When Liz returned from the kitchen, Bobby continued to regard her design with a new professional gleam in his eyes. Upon her return, Liz noticed with some surprise that Bobby had been able to resist instinctively arming himself.

She was under no illusion that he trusted her that much. No hunter would after finding her in this kind of situation.

A second later Bobby flinched when he received a message on his phone. Looking up from his position he saw that Liz now sat cross-legged on the opposite side of the still shining sigil — her own cell in her hand.

It'll be easier this way,

I don't know how to

express half of it in signs.

So just to be clear,

THIS is meant for

your protection.

– Liz

Thinking to himself that this was as strange as it could get —sitting around a freshly drawn blood sigil, exchanging SMS— Bobby lowered his phone.

"Not that I don't appreciate the thought, Liz, but what's this truly about?"

He couldn't tell for sure whether it was actually such a good thing that she started chewing her lip whilst typing her reply.

I might have to leave for

a while so I wanted to take

the necessary precautions

in case I missed something.

Are you very mad?

"No, but I might be if ya keep stallin', dear" Bobby warned her without sounding like he'd make good on his threat. Instead his eyes lingered on the strange dark lines on her pale arms he had failed to notice before. They looked like whip bruises although they were of a smoky black quality — almost like ashes imprinted into her pale skin. "Wanna tell me what happened there?"

Instead of answering his question, Liz kept insistently tapping on the sigil before her — just as the next text appeared on the screen of Bobby's cell.

This is a veldismagn, an

Icelandic rune used for

protection and I turned it

into an anchor of sorts.

"Liz."

I buried seven rowan wood chips

—carved with more runes—

in two counter-rotating circles

around the house so that

they'd snap in. I also made a

map for them, so you could check.

I just have to finish this so that

the circles will properly replenish

themselves with energy.

"Liz, I ain't mad. Listen, how 'bout you put that away for just a second?"

Little should get past it,

I even planted some flowers

that will enforce the magia

of the runes and they–

Before she could finish the next message, Bobby gently pulled the phone out of her hands; his face clearly showing the exasperation he hadn't allowed to affect his actions.

"Those dark lines on your arms. Explain, now."

'I am allergic to the wood I worked with' Liz finally offered sheepishly, tracing one of the black lines on her skin before again lifting her hands, 'It's something I can't heal well with only my own power.'

"Alright, listen here, you goofball! I don't know what's gotten into you, but if you don't suck it up like a big girl next time and ask me for help, I can promise you that I'll be damn well mad and with good reason too. But first things first – There'll be no more secret monster-proofing jobs without informing me beforehand. Are we clear on that?"

A very tiny smile braved the worried expression on Liz face now, although she once again seemed to be at a loss of what to do next. She looked like she might hug him any second, so Bobby put a firm stop to that from coming his way with a dismissive wave of his hand.

Never having been one to know how to deal with this stuff properly, Bobby got to his feet and produced two glasses which he then filled with liquor just strong enough to make this easier on him. He wasn't sure whether Liz was able to get drunk, but he still felt like showing her some manners. Even if she was clearly testing the boundaries applying to her role of a visitor in this house.

Handing her the few inches of dark liquid, he settled on the couch, "Why don't you finish what you started, put the glamour spell on it —which I'm sure you were planning to later use for hiding the sigil from me, you brat— and tell me what's really going on here, Liz. Cause, believe it or not, I didn't spend all those nights researching European spirits just for kicks. I want to help you, you idiot."

So, she did just that. And if they ended up spending the remainder of the night putting up more wards around the house instead of actually getting any deeper into it than 'My fed-up sister may have searched for me so that I'll make up with her surrogate father figure and take him off her hands' well, that's just how things turned out.

After they jacked some random car a day later, the brothers arrived just in time for dinner at Bobby's.

As they made their way towards the invitingly glowing lights of the house, the first thing they noticed were the odd flowers planted here and there. Some bright and colorful, others looking more like someone had picked them up from the side of a road.

It was something Dean chose to comment with a heartfelt "What the fuck?" while Sam could at least classify carnations, marigold and… the one near the shed did look a bit like… common rue, maybe?

Sufficiently bewildered by Bobby's newest hobby, the brothers turned around a corner in the maze of car wrecks only to stumble upon the amateur gardener himself, who —muttering to himself— was fumbling to light a rusted barbecue; a plate with marinated steaks just in reach.

At the sight Dean's mood visibly brightened, "Oh, Bobby. I feel so loved right now."

"Well, Liz will be happy to know — was her idea" the old hunter shot back without missing a beat, tossing the lighter aside to give the Winchesters one of his casual once-overs that had never truly fooled them. Seemingly satisfied that all of their limbs were still attached, Bobby jerked his thumb towards the cold barbecue coals, "So long as I get this blasted thing started, that is."

Right in this moment a familiar blond head popped out of the open kitchen door, sending the new arrivals a soft smile in greeting — almost as if to defy Dean's own tight expression.

"Liz, could you fetch me some matches or another lighter? This one's just not doing it" Bobby called.

Yet instead of disappearing back inside, Liz fully emerged before carefully treading down the stairs with her bare feet. They watched her carefully tiptoeing around the car parts strewn across the driveway and Bobby opened his mouth to repeat his words just as the Irish being carefully nudged him with her hip so that he'd move out of the way. Ignoring the blatant confusion written over all their faces, Liz casually dropped a handful of fire into the bowl of the barbecue.

Just like that.

When seconds later bright hungry flames started licking the coals they perfectly highlighted the hunter's stunned expressions. Even Bobby, who knew just what Liz was capable of if she put her mind to it, couldn't help but gulp at the sight of her relaxed smile.

Especially since she looked as though she'd just done something mundane like picking up the mail before returning to happily chop the vegetables in the kitchen.

"No way I'm ever getting used to… well, that" Dean hoarsely shared at a conspiratorial volume; swallowing as though he hoped to overplay the awe that now snuck in his voice, "Now this whole 'let's just make meteors rain' suggestion makes so much friggin' sense."

Having been quiet for a while now, Sam shouldered his bag. "Some of her abilities sure could come in handy. I bet she knows a lot too."

Bobby would've liked to inform them that she also helped turning the house in a supernatural Fort Knox but decided against it. He still couldn't quite wrap his head around the fact that she'd readily taught him as many sigils in one night as he had scraped together in all his years as a hunter. All it had cost him was one would ya mind and the permission for her to key her own magia in the wards so that they'd accept her.

"She making pie too?" Dean suddenly whispered, his eyes fixed on the flour and sugar Liz had just pulled out of a cabinet. Sam just snorted which earned him a cuff.

Finally able to put the steaks on the roast, Bobby listened to their sizzling for a moment before he chose to point out, "Why don't ya go inside and grab a beer, Dean? She waited for you to arrive before starting that pie, sayin' something about how you might be able to actually eat some this time, if only you were to properly watch her preparing it."

Unsurprisingly, Dean didn't need to be told twice.

While Sam watched how his brother quickly discarded his stuff to grab a beer and take a seat at Bobby's kitchen table, he couldn't help but sigh.

"Don't feel bad about it if our princess pitched a fit" Bobby muttered quietly, turning the meat without bothering to look up. He didn't need to see the younger Winchester's expression to know the gist of what had happened. "Whatever he said doesn't hold any true weight, Sam. Just don't take it too much to heart. Dean's a good kid, but he guards his own feelings almost as closely as he does keep an eye on his brother, so you of all people should give it some time… and maybe a bit more rest. Otherwise you'd both just feel sorry in the end."

Both of them glanced through the kitchen door just in time to see as Dean happily received the mixing bowl Liz had used for the dough. When he eagerly started scraping the rest together, the supernatural apparently couldn't help grinning from one ear to the other. To Sam's surprise, it actually took Dean quite a few moments before he eventually caught sight of the mirth dancing in her eyes; prompting his brother to quickly exchange his childish glee for a deep scowl.

"You should also take as much time as you need, Sam" Bobby murmured with a shake of his head. As much as he appreciated that the boys were still sometimes just that —boys— it sure was enough to make him feel old on his best days. "And now... get your stupid ass inside and bring me another beer!"

Later, when they all sat in the cramped kitchen, Liz made sure to hide her smug little smirk.

Dean meanwhile pretended to not notice how her mask slipped once or twice.

All in all, it was probably the first evening that they spent together without bringing up her nature even once. The brothers of course properly teased Bobby about his new gardening hobby and their bickering only came to an end when Liz finally served them all a huge piece of steaming hot apple pie with ice cream.

And if Dean warned her that he wouldn't shy from kicking her under the table for that annoying smirk of hers, he certainly forgot about it when he happily munched his way through the second piece.

Later that same night, after all the humans had disappeared upstairs, Liz stood in the living room regarding all the bits and pieces of what should have brought them closer to finding out about her true nature. Neither she nor Robert had dared to actually say it out loud, but it had become quite obvious that they'd reached a dead end.

There was after all only so much research one could do with his impressive, yet still quite limited resources.

Staring at some of the print outs, Liz couldn't help but think about the people she had come to view as her real family.

»Dad's been asking what you're up to.«

Dad…

Running her finger over a surprisingly accurate family tree of the Irish pantheon, Liz couldn't help but recall parts of her bleak childhood — the pain numbed with only time and the kindness of others showing her the true meaning of familial bonds.

Sometimes she would catch herself wondering whether there'd ever been a place for her amongst the Tuath Dé, or if her decision to leave with Loki had indeed burned all bridges.

She was so lost in her thoughts that she almost missed the faint noise coming from outside. Almost. But when Liz searched the silence with her senses —hoping that she'd be able to write the rustle off as some confused bird— there was only this sinking feeling in her gut.

Chances were that it turned out to be nothing in the end. But then again, she couldn't quite ignore the possibility that whatever lurked out there, might just be strong enough to hide from her perception…

Unable to spot anything from the windows, Liz contemplated alarming the hunters who were still peacefully resting upstairs. Robert would probably be disappointed with her if she didn't try to at least warn him.

But they were safe inside the house. She had made sure of that.

Carefully wrapping a cloth around the fire iron, Liz opened the door — a rush of cool night air greeting her before she even stepped outside.

For a second she saw and felt nothing. Just this ominous silence that reminded her of those horror movie sequences seconds before a jump scare. Dearly hoping this wasn't the case, Liz tightened her hold on the iron, preparing to—

— hear someone snort, apparently.

It seemed to be an involuntary noise; ranging somewhere between obnoxiously loud and downright mocking. Worst part was… Liz knew that sound. In fact, she knew it so bloody well that —without even trying to— she could tell that it was because of her appearance.

She was, after all, still dressed in some of Bobby's old clothes. Not to mention that she was currently wielding a fireplace poker with a determined expression. Even if it now instantly melted off her face.

By the time Liz's eyes finally sought the dark figure sitting on the balustrade at the other end of the porch, his fingers already busied themselves with the rustling wrapper of a lollipop.

Finally, a glint of gold and amber met her flat stare.

"Hiya Betsy. Long time no see."

lítlasystir / 'litlasistir / n. is the Faroese way of saying little sister. Old Norse still has a strong influence on the language of the Faroese Islands, so I chose this for want of a better translation. It's what Hel calls Eilís.

magia / 'magia / n. is the term that's used to describe the power pagan deities and other supernatural beings possess. While angels have their grace, the power humans have given to the different pantheons and beings through their belief will further be referenced to as magia.

skitstövel / skitstøwəll / n. an offensive Swedish term to describe a person. Literally means 'shit-boot' but is used similarly to asshole, fucker, or bastard.

Tuath Dé / t̪ˠuəhə dʲeː / n. is one of the earlier names used for the supernatural race in Irish Mythology — it literally translates as 'tribe of the gods' and they are thought to represent the main deities of pre-Christian Gaelic Ireland; thus, the Irish Pantheon.

Author's note: I am so sorry to have left you hanging for so long – I really do owe you big thanks for your patience, guys! Just know that if I should ever take so long again, you may give me a nudge, kick me — or just throw stuff.

Anyhoo, you've met Hel at the beginning of this chapter, the Norse goddess of death. She won't be like the version in the spin-off novel Supernatural: Carved in Flesh, if you've read that. Hopefully, you won't mind me playing with her role a bit, especially since I haven't found many stories including more than just a side note mention of Loki's supposed children in the Norse mythology. So, I'll make those up as I go. Suggestions or ideas are of course always welcome!

Since Loki finally made his appearance at the end (I did promise after all), the next two chapter will be about a whole bunch of whys, ifs and don'ts for getting involved with the Winchesters.

So, until next time and thank you all for reading!

#funfact 1: The actress who was used as an inspiration for Liz is Carey Mulligan. Check her out, she's amazing!

#funfact 2: Meanwhile the actress I had in mind for Hel is Eva Green. Seems like the right kinda person to pull off the whole I am the goddess of death and I'm gonna kick Hades' ass during the next centenary soul count.