Chapter Two: In Which There Are The 3 B's: Bitching, Boobs, and Bobby.

There was a long pause after her statement. Then Dean asked in a careful voice, as if speaking to a crazy person: "What do you mean, it was God's?"

"Like, God God? With a capital G?" Sam asked, his tone torn somewhere between wariness and excitement.

"Well, not exactly," she said, frowning and staring into her beer bottle as if it contained the divine mysteries of the world. Her fingernails, ragged over callused hands, scraped at the edges of the glass and shook with the faintest tremor. Dean's quick eyes caught the motion, reading it as anxiety smothered by bravado. "More like… angels. God just has a nicer ring to it."

Sam took a step forward, his arms under his blue button-down shirt tense, his mouth hanging open just a little.. "Are you an angel?"

Behind him, Dean nearly breathed the words: shit, not another freaking angel.

There was a breathless pause. Eli glanced up; her eyes were a shade too dark behind nearly lash-less lids, making her look hollow.

Finally she shook her head. "Sorry to disappoint," she said quietly, "but I'm no angel. Just someone who knows her way around them."

Sam stepped back, visibly deflated. "Oh," he said, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Okay."

"Now come on," Dean snapped, pressing his fingers to his temples and feeling his heart pump beneath the delicate skin. "What does that even mean? You 'know your way around them?' And also, so-the-hell-what? Why would angels send us Barbie's little sister to be a bodyguard? They think we can't handle ourselves?"

"They have their reasons," she said, and then shrugged. "Don't question it."

"Oh, I'm questioning it," he said in a low voice, striding forward and jutting a finger in her face, "because whether or not you're telling the truth, I know I would be the one who ends up saving your ass, and I do not need to look after one more person right now."

"Get. Your finger. Out of. My face," Eli hissed. "You pompous, macho, self-righteous son of a bitch."

Dean straightened up. "Bobby!" he barked, wheeling toward the older man, who had pulled off his baseball cap and was covering his face with his hand in exasperation. When he heard his name he peered at Dean through the cracks in his fingers. "We're talking. Now." Without waiting for a response he marched out of the room.

Sam hesitated for a moment, then followed his brother.

"Jesus H. Christ," Bobby moaned as he stood, his frown nearly hidden in his beard. "I told you this wasn't a good idea, kid. Last time I do you any favors."

Eli let out a sigh, a huffing, impatient sound. "Just…please, Bobby," she said. "It's important."

"You better be right," he muttered, jamming the old hat back on his head and walking away.

The living room was a mess, books heaped on tables, papers scattered across the ancient floor, guns and cartons of salt laying haphazardly on the chairs and windowsills. The windows were grimy and let little light filter in, giving the whole room an other worldly, dust-most clotted effect. The moment Bobby walked in Dean rounded on him. "The hell, Bobby?" he demanded. "You can't be serious!"

"Now you listen to me, boy," Bobby said in his firmest 'father' voice. "I've know Eli for years. I trained her. And she's a good hunter, a damn good hunter. You'd be lucky to have her by your side, now more than ever." He stared at them, hard. "You boys go it alone like you're so tough, like all you need is each other. But sometimes it's okay to accept help."

"But her, Bobby?" Dean asked. "I mean, I'm sure she's good if you say she is, and damn if she doesn't have a great rack, but if we're trying to stop Lilith from releasing The Fucking Devil then don't you think we need someone… burlier? You know." He gestured vaguely to his face. "Tough-as-nails, covered in war wounds, maybe an eyepatch."

"What do you mean, you trained her?" Sam asked before Bobby could shoot another scathing remark at Dean. "Bobby, you don't train anybody."

"Yeah, and what was with the whole God and angels thing? Are we really supposed to believe that angels sent her?" Dean's voice was bitter.

"Both of you, shut up," Bobby snapped, his voice hoarse. "I'm sick to death of your bitching. Now, to answer your question, Sam, yes, I did train her. In fact, she's the only one I ever trained. Came upon her about six years ago. She was in a bad way, and I helped her out. Damn girl was determined to be a hunter and nothing I or anyone else said would stop her. I got roped into training her so she wouldn't run off and get herself killed. Stayed here for nearly two years. She's practically family. You boys should understand that better than anyone." He suddenly stopped and fixed Dean with a death-stare. "So no more comments about her 'great rack', you hear me?"

"Yes, sir," Dean muttered, slightly chastened.

"Now," Bobby said, a bit calmer, though his fingers still twitched and pulled at the edge of his checkered flannel shirt. "I don't know about this angel business. She asked me to introduce her to you two and facilitate this whole thing. I said yes because I believe she can help, and I believe in her."

"But do you really think it's angels?" Sam asked. "More angels?"

"Possibly," Bobby replied simply.

"Why?" Dean demanded.

"Because I think it was angels that first led me to her."

There was a long pause.

"Oh no," Dean said, crossing his arms. "You don't get to lay a statement like that out and not explain it."

"I don't have to explain anything to you, boy," Bobby snapped in response, his face going red.

Silence.

Then Sam asked, in a small voice: "Why didn't you tell us about her before?"

"Because it's none of your damn business, that's why." Bobby threw up his arms in frustration. "I need another beer. You two idiots are making me grumpy." He turned and started walking back to the kitchen.

"What if we still don't want her with us?" Dean said, stopping Bobby in his tracks.

He whirled around and marched back over to Dean, stopping an inch away from the beaten leather jacket. "Don't you listen to a word I say?" he said in the tone reserved for when he thought the boys were being especially dense. "She's persistent. Won't take no for an answer. So I figure, you say no now, she'll just follow you and pop up at the most inconvenient time. She's tough to shake. You think I wanted to train some smartass 19-year-old kid in a life that will probably get her killed before her 30th birthday? She wore me down, that's for damn sure. So for everyone's peace of mind, just do it. For me." He took a step back. "Dumb ass."

Then he turned and disappeared into the kitchen.

The two brothers glanced at each other with long-suffering looks upon their faces. They seemed to communicate without speaking: Dean jerked his head toward the kitchen, Sam responded with a tiny shrug of the shoulders and a lift of the eyebrows, then Dean rolled his eyes, shook his head, and raised his palms as if to say, well what can you do? Sam nodded, and they both walked into the kitchen.

Eli was sitting at the table across from a silent Bobby; they were both moodily sipping their beers and furrowing their brows. Dean cleared his throat.

"Because Bobby's such a good friend," he started, "we've decided to agree to your insane plan. You can come with us." He held up a finger. "On a trial basis. The moment I have to save your ass, you're off the team, kapish?"

She stared at him somberly, and then a tiny smile quirked the edge of her lip. "I can't believe you just said 'kapish.'"

"Just get your stuff and get in the damn car," Dean snapped. The threat of sleep still pushed at the back of his eyes but he was angry and he just wanted to be away from that damn house and go somewhere anonymous, where he could sleep in a strange bed and be safe in the fact that no one knew him.

"You know, I'm surprised at you, Dean Winchester," Eli said, rising from the table and dropping her beer in the trash can. She stretched, her back cracking loudly, like tiny gunshots. "With your reputation, I thought you would be nicer to a girl with 'a great rack.'"

Dean stood there with his mouth open for a moment, then he closed it so hard his teeth clicked audibly. "Just…aw, goddamnit." Then he turned and huffed out of the room, shoulders hunched. In the corner, Bobby snickered.

"I guess I should say welcome to the team," Sam said without a smile. He paused. "Just…try not to die, okay?"

He left the room. Eli moved to follow him, then turned and looked at Bobby. "Thank you," she said. "For everything. For not telling them anything."

"Not my place to tell," Bobby said, standing and moving closer to her. He dropped his voice. "You know they'll find out, sooner or later. And when they do, they're gonna be pissed."

"I'll deal with that when I get there." She lifted onto her toes and kissed his cheek. "Thanks, Bobby. Really. Just… thanks."

"Don't die on me, girl," he said. "We're in a war here."

"I know, Bobby," she said, with a strange kind of fatalism. "I'm on the front lines."