Jody sat a cup of tea in front of Sara, who smiled appreciatively.

Ever since she was a little girl, Sara has a knack for telling what people were like. She could tell who was good and who was bad. What they were thinking – not exactly, of course, but she was good at reading the signs – body language, facial expressions, tones. And for some reason, Jody Mills wasn't totally freaked out at the thought of demons. She didn't even look all that bothered. More . . . tense. Even Claire had began to listen intently when Sara spoke.

Which she did. A lot. She explained about her parents, how her mother, Regina, died in some sort of wild animal attack. She didn't remember her mother ever going anywhere where there were animals, but then again, she was only five when she died.

Her mother had told her about her father with such admiration and love, that for her first few years, Sara loved him as fiercely as Regina had. He was a wealthy businessman she'd met while in college in Manchester. They fell in love, had even talked about getting married, but Regina had gotten pregnant with Sara. But her father had leave on business, and visited less and less during Regina's pregnancy. Then he stopped coming altogether.

Regina never stopped loving on him, and was sure he'd come back. He would send gifts, occasionally, for Sara – money, dresses, trinkets, all sorts of things, and continued to do so even after Regina died. Sara grew to resent him as she got older – she had never met him, not once, and had no photos or anything, not even a name. He always signed his cards as "your father." She grew to hate him as he never came and got her, and she was forced to live in the system. The last time Sara received anything from him, it was three thousand dollars on her sixteenth birthday. Usually the foster parents Sara ended up with were awful, and would take anything he'd send her. However, she had gotten to this cash first, and used it to come to America, where she ran and lived on her own for five months.

She paused, taking a deep drink of tea, and sighed.

"So you came to America and lived on the streets for five whole months?" Claire asked.

"Yep," Sara sighed, shoving some hair behind her ear. She really needed to cut it. "And then about eight months ago, people started following me. People in suits. I always outran them – when I was younger I had 'anger issues', so I put it into exercise. Boxing, running, anything like that. So I never had a problem outrunning them. But this past month, something is . . . different."

"Like what, sweetie?" Jody asked.

"The others, from the beginning," Sara frowned. "Something about them felt . . . awful. Like anger and hate and also power radiated off of them. But they never tried to hurt me. But lately, the ones tracking me . . . they don't feel wrong, like bad or anything, but they have this power about them that is outrageous. And they're much more interested in hurting me."

"They're the ones that kabobbed you, huh?" Claire asked.

Sara smiled. Claire was amusing, and also kind in her own way. She liked her. "Yes," she said. "But their weapons were so odd. They almost looked like swords. All silver, and thin. And very sharp, I can assure you."

"Be right back," Claire said, jumping up and running up the stairs.

"Sara," Jody said, looking at the girl with kind eyes. "Do you have any family at all? Besides for your father? Anyone who could have enemies . . .?"

Sara shook her head, frowning. "Well, my grandmother visited once," she remembered. "When I was quite small. She didn't care for mum much. She wanted me to come live with her, but my mum refused, and I never saw grandmother again after that."

"Who was she?"

"No idea," Sara shrugged. "Mum said I look like her, though."

"Did their blades look like this?" Claire reentered, holding a small, silver sword, and Sara gasped, standing and taking it.

"Exactly!" she said, examining it.

"Claire, where did you get that?" Jody sounded more annoyed than frightened at the prospect of her foster child having a blade.

"This one? It's Castiel's," she shrugged. "Or, it was."

"Did you steal it?"

"Borrowed. But yeah, I lifted it."

"This is almost the exact weapon they were using," Sara continued, completely dumbfounded. "Where did you get this?"

"Long story. But now we know who's after you."

"Really? Who?"

"Claire," Jody cleared her throat. "Go pick up Alex from school."

"But –"

"Now," Jody said, standing. "Sara has had a long day. We can talk after she's had a shower and something to eat. How about you pick up a pizza on the way home?"

"Yeah, alright." She looked at Sara, who tried to hand the blade back, and shook her head. "Keep it. I have another. Besides, you might need it sometime."

Dean Winchester was half asleep at the table when his brother loudly placed a beer in front of him.

"Dude," Sam said, sitting across from him. "You've been at it for like, a half an hour."

"Twenty minutes, actually," Castiel corrected from down the table.

"I can't help it," Dean grumbled. "This is boring. There is no lore on the Darkness, Sam. Alright? You know it. I know it. Cas knows it. Amara knows it. Crowley knows it. The old lady down the street probably knows it. It's a dead end."

Sam sighed, knowing his brother was right, but wouldn't give up. "Listen, man, maybe if these visions really do mean something . . ."

"Sam, I swear to God, wherever his holy ass may be, that if you even mention Lucifer . . ."

His phone rang, and he looked at Sam. "We're not done here," he said, before reading the caller ID. He frowned. "It's Claire." He answered, putting it on speaker. "Miley, what's happening?"

"Come up with some new material, James Spader," the teen bit back, and Dean looked mildly offended.

"Claire, is everything alright?" Castiel frowned, concerned.

"Depends," Claire replied. "Is there any reason a bunch of angels attacking a teenage girl would be alright?"

"Whoa, whoa, who got attacked?" Sam asked quickly. "Are you and Alex okay?"

"We're fine; it's this girl who ran into us – literally. We were on our way home and this chick runs out in front of the car, bleeding from a stab wound. Says she was stabbed with an angel blade. I mean, she doesn't know it's an angel blade, obviously, but she recognized mine."

"Where did you get an angel . . . blade," Castiel said slowly, and his frown deepened. "I thought I dropped that."

"You did. Out of your coat pocket. Into my hand. But that's not the weird part. So get this," she said, and Dean fought a grin at how Sam-like she sounded. "These angels think she's a demon for some reason."

"Is she?" Dean suggested.

"No. No traces of sulfur, crossed a Devil's trap without anything happening."

"How's the EMF?" Sam asked.

"Going crazy, but it always does. This house is super old, like four people died here. So I can't get a clean read on her. She's a nice kid, okay? I just . . . look, she's from out of the system, and I know what that's like. She's all alone out there and I want her to stay. But as long as those guys are out there, she's going to keep moving. I don't want her to die, so please . . . could you guys check it out?"

Sam and Dean looked at each other. They nodded. "We'll be there as soon as we can," Sam said.

"I'm coming too," Cas added.

"You really don't have to do that, Castiel," Claire said.

"I'll be there."

"Alright, fine. Just, don't take too long, okay guys?"

"Watch your back, Taylor Swift," Dean told her.

"Keep trying, less attractive Dave Mustaine." She hung up.

Sam looked at Dean, who was frowning.

"Dude," he said. "I'm way better looking than Dave Mustaine. Right?"

Sam raised his eyebrows, stood, and headed for the kitchen.

"Right?" Dean called. "Sam? Sam?"

I hope you guys are enjoying the story! Don't forget to rate and review!