The drive to Seattle was as miserable as anticipated, punctuated with a lot of whining and squirming around, Dean and Sam both reminding her more than once that she'd brought this on herself. Emily wasn't able to find one comfortable position on the hard leather seats of the Impala, so she finally ended up rolling up a sweatshirt of Sam's to sit on while Dean smirked at her from his view in the rearview mirror. It took them awhile, they'd found a secluded place to park Bobby's truck, which they'd have to go pick up on the way back, Dean teasing Emily that they'd probably stay at the same hotel and he'd happily tell the concierge that he was her fiancé and make sure they didn't get the nice room upgrade, to which Emily had rolled her eyes, feeling a pang of guilt at the thought of the older man disappointedly waiting for her back at the bar that evening.

Dean and Sam switched off driving, stopping only to eat at a greasy burger joint once, and to refuel at a gas station twice, and when they finally reached the state sign for Oregon, the nervous anticipation that had been fluttering around in Emily's stomach the whole day solidified into a hard block of dread. What was she doing? What was she thinking? A gruesome thought that she'd shoved into the very back of her mind was now piercing her mind at an increasingly vivid state; what if her dad's body was still there? Decaying, rotten, dead, dead, dead. She couldn't verbalize it, afraid that if she opened her mouth to speak that she would vomit. It was only a few hours now, but it was late, really late, and before Dean even said the words, Emily knew that they were going to find a place for the night before they'd venture to her house. Indeed, three hours later they found themselves in a janky little Motel 8 in the heart of Seattle, the man at the front desk leering at the trio with raised eyebrows. Emily rolled her eyes to keep herself from reaching over and punching the disgusting old man, practically able to taste the raunchy thought filling his head. "Any chance of a room with three beds?" Sam broke the fantasy and the old man just gave a lecherous grin.

"Sorry, double's only."

"That's fine," Dean grunted, passing over the fake id and credit card, "we just need one night."

Safely in the room, Emily barely had the strength to climb into what was most definitely not a clean shower before she tumbled into bed, not caring who was going to be sharing it with her, just needing to be alone with her thoughts and feelings so she could come to terms with the fact that they were most definitely there and most assuredly going to be facing a hunt with the creature who killed her dad. The boys sensed that the mood had shifted, and they kept exchanging glances at each other over her head, to the point that Emily finally had enough and snapped, "What?"

Sam sighed and sat on the bed across from hers, his eyes trained on her thoughtfully. "It's just...are you okay? You seem tense. I mean, we all feel a little tense, but you seem...extra tense." Dean snorted on the other side of Emily, where he was lying and playing something on his phone, "that's an understatement," he muttered, eliciting a slap on the arm from Emily. "Hey!"

"I'm fine," she rolled her eyes, before turning her body to face Sam, pretending Dean wasn't there for a moment. "I'm just, I'm just...worried." Her lower lip caught in her teeth and she chewed it for a moment, feeling lost on where to go with it, "I worry what we're gonna find. If my dad...if his body is there. Or if the creature is there. Or if his spirit is there."

The last point had been the most concerning to her, she didn't know if she could handle seeing her father's spirit, but more conflictingly than that, she wanted to see him too. To tell him she was sorry, to tell him goodbye. She didn't say that to the boy in front of her though, that was a thought just for her. "Well, that's the thing Em, do you remember anything about when you came home that night he died? Sulfur? Black smoke? Any kind of smell or tokens left behind? It would really help us prepare if we knew what we're potentially going to be facing."

"No, nothing," Emily told him honestly, feeling the hair on the back of her neck stand up a little. "That's the thing, I didn't feel anything at all. I didn't smell anything. And dad didn't even have a mark on him, no bite marks or stab wounds, nothing outward that I saw. He was just sitting in his chair and his eyes were open. Empty. Like he'd sat down to watch tv and just died. But I know that's not what happened. His face was all messed up, like he'd been screaming." She had to shake the image from her head in order to stop herself from crying. She couldn't. Not now. "I don't know what got him, but whatever it was, it was silent and it was powerful. My dad was too good of a hunter to have been surprised."

Sam's gaze was troubled, clearly he was having as much issue processing what she was telling him as Emily was recalling the details of that night. "That's really strange. I guess we'll see what we're dealing with in the morning."

Dean had been quiet to that point and he didn't make any more noise after. He hadn't moved from his spot, telling Emily that he was claiming that side of the bed, and she didn't argue. She just laid down and closed her eyes and attempted to force herself into sleep, knowing that it wasn't going to come easily.

The next morning was a subdued affair. They got dressed, grabbed coffee from a near by shop, and then piled back into the Impala, Emily guiding them through the bustling, busy traffic of the city with trained precision. Muscle memory. It was painful, being back here. The city was home, but a sad one. It was drizzling lightly that day, the Space Needle looked sad and dingy from her spot in the car, the homeless people lining the streets seemed to have multiplied, the smell in the air was that of smoke and rain and fish and ocean. Depressing. She didn't remember feeling like this before, but now that her dad was gone, it wasn't home. It had never really been. They had pulled away from the busyness of the city, entering more residential neighborhoods now, the apartments and townhomes fading behind them until they reached her house. It was unassuming, painted a muted navy blue among a row of other houses in similar palettes, and as Dean parked, the familiar feeling of dread bubbled inside again. This was it. She was here, she was facing it, she was going finally going to get the revenge she had so desperately sought out. The boys were out of the car first, going to the trunk to unpack their arsenal as best as they could, not knowing exactly what they'd need. But Emily didn't wait for them, her feet seemed to be moving on their own, carrying her step after step up the stoop and to the front door. It looked the same as always. No mail. No neighbors peeking out to find out what was going on. As cold and familiar as always. She ignored the boys behind her yelling at her to wait, and her hand found the doorknob and mechanically, it opened.

There was nothing.

Everything was exactly as it had been before. It smelled musty, and the faint smell of rotting food permeated her nose as well, but nothing else. She found the light switch and the room flooded with electricity, but there was still nothing. She had braced herself for nothing. No spirit flew out, no demon sat in wait, no creature lurked in the floorboards. It was silent in the house. She moved slowly to the living room, her body so tense it hurt, but again, nothing. Her father wasn't there. There was no trace of him, no trace of his body. The TV was off. A moldy cup of coffee sat on the table next to the paper from the day he'd died. It was so surreal and so bizarre that Emily could do nothing but laugh, and she was still laughing when the boys rushed in behind her, looking around for the worst as well.

"There's nothing," she repeated the thought out loud to the two bewildered boys. "Not down here at least." They seemed a little scared by the girl in front of them, the reaction was clearly not what they expected, and they exchanged another not so subtle glance.

"It could still be waiting," Dean told her patiently, his hand finding his pocket which he patted gently. "We don't know it isn't here. You smell anything Sammy?"

Sam had left the room for the kitchen and he just called back, "Nothing but some very green bread, and what may have once been a banana."

Emily headed for the stairs and Dean followed behind, much to her annoyance. "I don't think anything is here, Dean-" the sentence died in her throat as they reached the main bedroom. There, sitting quietly, unblinking, unmoving, was a man. He looked any other man, he was a dark tan, his eyes were brown, his hair was neatly combed, he wore a grey suit that looked both cheap and expensive all at once. Dean acted the quickest, drawing his gun out on the man before Emily could even react, but the man merely turned his gaze to them both, raised a hand, and waved it, sending Dean's gun flying out of his hand and to the wall next to them. Emily's brow furrowed, the fear feeling heavy as she stared at him; she knew him. He was familiar in the way that a dream was, hazy, but there in the deepest core of her subconscious. She opened her mouth to speak, but the man spoke first, his voice was a deep bass that she wasn't expecting.

"You have come," the words were simple. He stood, and they took in how tall he was, and Dean made a move again, trying to go for the gun, which the man stopped with another wave of his hand, pinning Dean to the spot, even as he struggled and swore. Emily ignored him, taking a step towards the man, the same look of bewildered thought on her face clearly. "I am Ezekiel."

Dean stopped swearing then, Sam had entered the room, salt in hand, but he dropped it and merely whispered, "an angel?"

"Almost." The man merely glanced to Sam before continuing. "You know me, girl?" Emily didn't speak, just nodded, and felt the boys eyes land on her. "You should know me. I was there when your mother was taken. I was the one who took your father." She started at that sentence, a furious anger rising in her before she could stop it. "It had to be done. I serve no master, but serve both masters. You were no part of any plan, your mother was needed and so she was taken. Your father was in your way, and so was he taken." This made no sense, but somehow made complete sense, conflicting again. Emily's memory returned, she was four years old and the man was in her room, her mother had come in to kiss her goodnight and he had come out of the shadows, scaring Emily. Her mother had been calm. She had kissed Emily, told her she loved her, and then she had been gone, along with the man. It had been as simple and as final as that. Her father had never understood it, they stayed on the hunt for the man for her whole life, but never found him. Until the man had found her father. "Castiel," the word sounded somehow bitter in his mouth, "serves the man who chose to keep you in the dark. He allowed you to keep this secret. I will not."

He looked to both Dean and Sam then, they were frozen and staring, mouth's agape. "This woman is half angel, half mortal. She was born of the fallen angel Saraphine, who was cast from Heaven when she set her sights on a mortal man and failed a mission in doing so. You have not seen the power she possesses, but you will. Her father was foolish, he knew of his task, what was to be, and he failed. He was to deliver you to John Winchester, ten years ago, as a gift from God and Lucifer, a most rare union, but he was proud. He was stupid. He disobeyed. When he realized that he could not be touched while you were with him, he used you for years as a shield. He used you as a weapon. He reaped your glory for himself all while dodging the inevitable."

No one spoke, no one moved. Emily could not distinguish her emotions from the man's words, but she felt a strange calm, a peace that she hadn't ever felt before since the moment her mother had disappeared and never returned.

"The task is done. So many missteps, but you are where you are meant to be. The Winchester's also possess rare gifts, one's given by both demon and angel, with you beside them, the task of ridding the world's monsters will once again be restored. I come to tell you now, you will not leave these men behind again. Castiel was too kind in his own mission, but I will not be. Do not again squander the task which is set before you."

Ezekiel's speech was finished, and final. The room filled with air as he waved his hand once more and they were set back into motion, and Emily let out the breath she had been holding, and turned to face the boys, her mouth set, her eyes hard. She so resembled the woman they'd first set eyes on months ago, that it took their breath away. The deadness in her expression, the anger. No one spoke until Emily finally broke the silence with an icy, "Now you know. What I am. Who I am."

She didn't know where the rage came from, but it spilled over as hot and quick as the tears streaming down her face. "My father died, my mother died, all because of you. All because I'm meant to be some prized pig for whatever Hunter is deemed most worthy." She spat the words so venomously that Dean flinched, Sam frozen in place. "Get out. Get OUT!" She shoved them both towards the door, they didn't fight her, just stumbled backwards into the hallway where she promptly slammed the door and sank to the floor with her head in her hands, her sobs filling the quietness.

Chapter finished! Emily's secret is out, what do you think? How is she going to handle the revelation of being forced to stay with the Winchester's because of the pact between God and Lucifer? Will she run off again? Will she fight it? Give me your feedback!