So I want to mention in this story, I'll be focusing on the girls and their relationship with Jody, and in particular, Claire's relationship with Cas (and Lucifer, soon enough), Alex's relationship with a boy (I think you'll be happy to see him soon . . .) and Sara's relationship with the demons, the angels, her father, and her newfound life. I hope you guys are enjoying, and as always, don't forget to review!

Crowley agreed to meet Castiel at Bobby's, which was a relief because it was close and also familiar. As he directed Claire where to go, he looked up at the sign, "Singer Salvage Yard." And the many, smaller signs after that, "No trespassing" "Trespassers will be shot" and "Go Away Crowley."

Claire stopped in front of the burned house, getting out and looking at it.

"What happened here?" she asked quietly, almost able to feel the memories swirling around the place.

Cas stared at the house for a long moment, unsure of how to respond. "I did."

"Hey!" Claire said, running past Cas. "Is that a seventy one Chevelle?"

Bobby's car sat exactly where he'd left it, rusting and falling apart. Claire opened the door, looking inside, and Cas followed.

"You like cars?" he asked.

"Old ones? Love 'em," she said, sticking her head inside of the car, yanking some vines and leaves away, and then crawling in and sitting in the driver's seat. "Why do you think I'm always trying to get behind the wheel of the Impala? These old Chevy's are treasures."

"Your father liked classic cars," Cas acknowledged.

"Don't I know it. He used to have this calendar from like, nineteen eighty three hanging in his office with all sorts of different cars on it. Mom wanted him to take it down, but he kept it. Said it was vintage."

Cas smiled. "Do you know how to work on them?"

"A little."

"Then you should fix this one."

She looked at him, raising her eyebrows. "For real?"

"Yes. For real. This was Bobby's." he touched the roof, smiling a little. "I think he'd approve of it being passed on to the next generation. As a matter of fact . . ." He looked around. "This whole place . . . it went to Sam and Dean, but they don't come here. I think it hurts too much. They wouldn't mind if you fixed up any of these old cars. Perhaps you can make me something to replace my "pimp" mobile."

Claire laughed, and Cas smiled, glad he was bonding with her.

He looked at his watch. "Crowley won't be here for another half hour or so. It would be a good time to see if there's anything else around here worth retrieving."

He handed Claire a flashlight and they headed towards the house – or what was left of it. There was no doorway to step through, or any walls on the north side of the house. As Castiel stood in what used to be the living room, he felt a strong emotion stirring in him – sadness. The memories of this old place hit him hard, and he realized why Sam and Dean never came back here to go through Bobby's things.

His desk was half collapsed, but all the drawers were still locked. Cas was appalled at how quickly Claire picked the locks on them, struggling to get the first open. The first thing Cas saw was the picture.

Bobby had kept a copy after all, then. There they stood – Sam, Dean, Castiel, Ellen, and Jo, with Bobby in his chair. It was in a cheap frame, but unharmed.

Claire handed it to him, and he gave her a nod of thanks, taking the picture out of the frame and sliding it into his coat pocket.

Cas headed towards the kitchen, but the floor was gone, and he backtracked, searching through the rubble.

"Alright," Claire called after a few minutes. "I've got an address book, two journals, a bottle of scotch, a photo album, a metal box filled with stuff for spells, a spell book, the keys to the Chevelle, and a flash drive.

"Good, we'll take it all," Cas said, and Claire nodded, shoving the items into her bag.

"I'm going to check the panic room," Cas said.

"The what?"

"Go sit in the car and lock the doors. Now, Claire."

She rolled her eyes and huffed, but picked her way carefully out of the house. She tossed her bag into the car, and headed back towards the Chevelle, clearing away all the weeds and brush. She searched it, finding a lot of bullets, a container of salt, and two bottles of whiskey in the glove compartment, one empty, one unopened.

"How much did this guy drink?" she muttered, opening the unopened one and taking a drink before shoving the bottle into her coat pocket.

She got out and tried to push the car forward onto the gravel, where she could clean it up better. She pushed and pushed, but the wheels were flat, and it was a heavy machine. It hardly budged.

Suddenly, though, it lurched forward, and Claire fell forward onto the ground, watching the car pull forward, and then back, sitting perfectly on the gravel where she wanted it.

She looked to her left, and saw a man standing there, eyebrows raised in amusement, one hand shoved in his black coat pocket, the other lazily pointing at the car.

Claire knew who he was, obviously – she'd heard all about him, and it was never good.

"Thanks," she said anyway, scrambling up.

"Don't mention it," he said, and flicked his hand. Claire felt herself flying backwards, slamming against the side of van roughly. He walked towards her slowly, if not lazily, and looked her over.

"Well," he said. "You're wearing every piece of anti-possession protection there is, so you obviously know who I am. So the question is, who are you?"

When she didn't answer right away, he lifted his hand, and it felt like an invisible fist was closing around Claire's windpipe. She gasped for breath, struggling against his grip.

"Crowley!"

Crwley turned, looking at Castiel, who had just emerged from the house.

"Ah, Cas. There you are."

"Put her down," Castiel growled.

Crowley raised his eyebrows. "Is she yours?" he released her, and Claire fell to the ground, gasping and clutching her throat. "Apologies." He offered his hand to her, and she swatted it away, standing herself and rubbing her throat, glaring.

"Your qualifications for hunters these days are just sad, Castiel," Crowley said, shoving both hands into his pockets. But then he frowned. "For the love of Hell, you both have the exact same scowley face. Is that your spawn, Cas?"

"My vessel's," Castiel replied gruffly.

"Well, that's an . . . odd relationship."

"What do you want?"

"I was expecting the Hardy Boys," Crowley said, watching Claire as she moved to the trunk of the Chevelle and unlocked up, pulling it up. "Not bring your daughter to work day – watch it, you little prat!" He jumped backwards as a jar of holy war fell and crashed in front of him.

"Oops," Claire smiled sweetly, returning to the trunk and tossing out various guns, ammo, knives, and empty liquor bottles.

Crowley narrowed his eyes and took a few steps to his left, away from her. "Anyway," he continued. "It's about stopping the Darkness. I might have something for you."

"You mean you might having something for you that you're too afraid to look into," Castiel retorted.

"Take it how you will. Now, the lead? There's a new prophet."

"A new prophet?" Cas frowned, looking at Claire, then back to Crowley. "It's not a teenage girl, is it?"

"What?" Crowley frowned. "No. Some middle aged man from Ecuador living in Florida. Why?"

"I'll follow the lead," Cas said swiftly. "Thank you. Come on, Claire."

"Hold on, hold on," Claire said. "Maybe he knows something about –"

"Claire," Cas frowned. "We have it handled."

"I do love gossip," Crowley said, smirking.

Cas sighed. "Jody Mills is Claire's foster mother."

"Small world," Crowley chuckled. "Continue."

"They ran into a girl a yesterday. Literally, actually. She was running from angels and had been stabbed. It wasn't a killing blow. I have my suspicions they meant to wound her and take her alive."

"You didn't mention that," Claire said, in shock.

"I didn't want to scare her," Castiel said.

"Well, how 'bout it, Pazuzu?" Claire asked, looking at Crowley. "Before the angels shanked her she was being tailed by demons. Have any idea why either one would have any interest in a seventeen year old girl?"

"First of all, don't. Second, not a clue. I have better things to do with my time then know where teenagers hang out. If I wanted to do that, I'd follow them on twitter."

"Funny," Claire sneered, rolling her eyes. "Come on, Cas. Let's find ourselves a middle aged Ecuadorian." She headed towards the car, and Cas sighed.

"We'll call you if we find something," he said, heading for the passenger seat.

"The girl," Crowley called, and Cas turned and looked at him.

"What about her?" Cas asked.

"What's her name?"

Cas frowned. "Sara."

"Sara." Crowley smiled and nodded. "That's a beautiful name."

Is anyone keeping track of Claire's nicknames for people? I should really write them down.