Living in the Bunker took some getting used to. Stephanie Holbrook was a legacy just like the Winchesters, though she had never even heard of monsters – and other things that go bump in the night – until a fateful day in December 2014, when Dean had saved her from a vampire. Some forty minutes later Sam had managed to find his way to them as well – by then Dean had already been in the midst of patching her up in the back of the Impala – and was pissed at his older brother for ditching him and going off on a hunt alone.

And Sam being Sam – encyclopedic mind and all – asked immediately when he had learned her last name if there was any relation to Ernest Holbrook. As a matter of fact there was. Turned out, her grandfather had been a Man of Letters and had been killed in 1958 when the whole order had been wiped out by a demon. The family never knew what had happened to him, he had just vanished from the face of the Earth. Steph's father – though devastated by the news – was glad to finally have some closure, not having to wonder if his father had abandoned him and his mom or not when he had been just five years old.

For her protection, they had brought her to the Bunker until they hunted down the whole nest. And then it had just sort of escalated from there, and she had soon become a permanent resident at the Bunker. Steph didn't go out on hunts with the boys but instead busied herself with combing through every inch of the archives, library and records, digitalizing every piece of knowledge there was – scanning books, running OCR on those she could, so the texts would become digitally searchable too, and organizing all the indexes and ledgers into huge excel spreadsheets. It was a big project but she somehow took it upon herself to be the new librarian of the MoL. Funny thing is, that was exactly in line with her qualifications and previous job history.

When either of the boys were available, she asked them to teach her how to fight, shoot guns and all that fun stuff. Strictly for self-defense purposes, she had told them, and it was mostly true but sometimes she itched for something exciting. Needless to say, she was met with a universal no on the full hunter initiation, but they agreed to the physical training nonetheless given that she was occasionally left all alone in the Bunker for extended periods of time.

Instead, she was research central where it came to hunts, helping Sam out in person or over the phone when they got stumped on a case. Kind of like a Bobby 2.0 (or 3.0 if you counted Garth) with a female upgrade. More often than not, that research involved the Mark of Cain and how to get rid of it. No luck so far in that department.

On this fine April morning, Stephanie had been sitting in the library yet again, hunched over like a dozen books that were sprawled out around her when Dean wandered in.

"'Morning, kiddo," he acknowledged her in that gruff manner that projected to the world that no, he was not alright, and no, he did not want to talk about it.

Of course, all of them knew the Mark was taking its toll on him, slowly grating away at some sort of self-control barrier, but Steph never really got the message to be afraid of the guy. Maybe because she hadn't been around to witness him turning into a demon. In either case, she never nagged or fussed like Sam, just helped wherever she could for which Dean was immensely grateful.

"Still not a kid," she quipped back from behind the curtain of her purple bob. She was twenty-nine, for crying out loud. Only seven years younger than Dean.

Dean just huffed at her, looking around the length of the room.

"Sam's still sleeping if you are looking for him," Steph supplied after glancing up due to the ensuing silence.

Dean just frowned at that but didn't care to comment. It really wasn't like Sammy to sleep in, he was normally an early riser and all, usually going out for a run or something. Though they did get in late last night, so that could count as a good excuse he supposed.

"Hey, do you think we could sneak in a sparring session? Getting kind of rusty here with you guys being gone for two weeks," her grey eyes lit up in anticipation.

The older Winchester paused to consider, then just shrugged and beckoned her to follow.

At first, everything seemed to be fine, it truly did. But then she started feeling increasingly fatigued and sluggish, continually missing the beat to block or evade some of Dean's punches and swings, soon after which she suddenly found herself in a chokehold.

Steph had never been the overly athletic type – too soft around the edges, though not plump enough to be called fat – but she had her moves if she concentrated hard enough. But despite her clever tactics, she wouldn't have been able to overcome Dean Winchester even on a good day if he really got his hold on her. And today was not a good day for her, she could tell. She tried twisting, kicking, elbowing her way out, then tapping Dean on the arm, signaling him to release her when she saw that there was no use fighting.

It didn't even seem to register with the hunter.

"Dean… can't… breathe…" Steph managed to squeeze the words out frantically, on the brink of passing out.

About ten seconds later she heard the door burst open, someone wrestling Dean off of her.

"What the hell, man?!" Sam yelled angrily at Dean who looked like someone who had just come out of a daze, while Steph just lay there curled up into a ball on the floor, frantically trying to catch her breath, coughing and inhaling ragged, desperate puffs of air. If she didn't have a sore throat before, she surely had one now.

"Steph?" Sam's hand landed soothingly on her shoulder blades. The touch made the girl flinch at first, still too keyed-up by the near-death experience, but the tension seeped out of her shoulders a second later as she deliberately timed her breaths to slow them down.

"I… uhm," Dean stammered, his expression torn between utter panic and a hard mask designed to shut it all out. "I'm… I'm so, so sorry."

And with that, he stormed out, guilt-ridden, probably to lock himself up in his room. Steph wanted to go after him, to tell him it wasn't his fault, that she wasn't angry, but she couldn't even lift her head up properly, so she gave up on that plan pretty quickly.

"Let's get you back to your room, okay?" Sam suggested when her face wasn't quite as red and blue from the exertion and oxygen deprivation anymore.

Steph nodded, not trusting her voice, but when she proceeded to stand up with Sam's help, her knees buckled under her, so he ended up scooping her up in his arms and carrying her bridal style.

There are definitely worse ways to go, Steph mused internally.

Truth be told, she had the biggest crush on both boys since the moment she had met them, and the more she found out about their lives, the deeper she seemed to be going down the rabbit hole. Some information was given to her willingly, other pieces she had found out from the Supernatural books. It had been Charlie who had sent her the links to the online versions with a wink when coming back from Oz she had found out that Steph had been living with the Winchesters for a couple of weeks already.

Said books also convinced her to shut the hell up about any and all feelings she might have for either of them because a) practically all women romantically involved in their lives ended up dead or with wiped memories, and b) she didn't want to look like a fucking groupie.

No, she was just content on being helpful and supportive where she could. That didn't mean that having Sam's arms around her didn't fill her with an odd sense of satisfaction. Even if the boys only looked at her as a sister of sorts.

Coming down from the adrenalin rush made her extremely drowsy. To the point that it almost didn't register with her that Sam had already placed her down on her bed and tucked her in.

Her throat hurt, her neck hurt, her whole body felt like a pile of lead when she next awoke. According to her clock, it was already late afternoon, and even though she had completely missed lunch, she wasn't the least bit hungry.

Steph coaxed herself out of bed anyway, knowing that Sam would be worried if she didn't show her face for dinner. Besides, on most days she was the one doing the cooking, so with Dean holed up, probably sulking in his room, there wouldn't even be dinner if she didn't venture out of her room.

She was still in her stinky, sweaty workout clothes from before and the way the air of the room made her shiver convinced her that a hot shower would be the best course of action before leaving.

The mirror was not a forgiving object at that moment though. She looked like an utter mess: bed head, slightly red eyes, and a couple of faint bruises not only along her neck but also some more severe ones on her arms and sides where the poorly blocked hits had landed. Like a freaking domestic violence victim, which she was absolutely not! With a scowl she stepped into the shower, thanking everything that was holy for the excellent water pressure.

Twenty minutes later she was making her way to the kitchen, leaning heavily on the walls for support, dressed in fresh yoga pants and an overly large sweatshirt. She made a conscious effort to pull the hood close around her neck to hide the evidence of the morning's happenings that weren't already covered by the long sleeves.

She arrived finally, only to find Sam standing in the kitchen, frantically looking between a cookbook and what seemed to be pasta in one pot and some kind of sauce in another. Sam didn't cook. Period. Not because he didn't want to, but because he was hopeless in the kitchen.

"L…" Let me take over before you set something on fire, she wanted to say, but her voice was completely gone, and only managed to force out a small choked sound that resembled a drowning cat. But even that was enough to gain the 6'4 tall guy's attention, and he spun around with a startled yelp. With the pan still in his hand. As a result, there now was tomato sauce decorating the floor around him in a colorful three-foot radius.

Steph shook her head in a sort of fond annoyance and backed out of the space to search the supply closet for a mop or something similar. Half a minute later she handed a squeegee to the giant with one hand as she stepped over the mess, taking the pan away from him with the other and gestured for him to take care of the floor while she tried to save dinner.

The pasta was already overcooked, so she took it off the heat and filtered out the water, then shuffled around Sam to the fridge to see if there were other things she could make a sauce out of. Thankfully there was more canned tomato and Sam hadn't even touched the ground beef yet that was supposed to have been seared before the tomato was poured on it. She sighed with another shake of her head, shivering with the cold that flowed out from the fridge. Sam was truly hopeless, but at least she had everything to start from scratch.

"Hyitshew" she sneezed into her elbow suddenly, taking herself completely by surprise. It wasn't particularly harsh but even that hurt like a motherfucker.

"Bless you," Sam said automatically, good manners drilled into him, not even realizing at first what had happened, then he frowned as he appraised Steph's appearance. She looked way too pale for his liking. "You okay?"

She just nodded as she quickly got her ingredients and closed the fridge, silently getting to work.

To be honest, she wasn't alright, but she wasn't about to worry Sam with it. Her throat was absolutely killing her. No wonder she had no voice. The only question was: laryngitis due to trauma or was she actually getting sick? Maybe both?

Neither prospect would ease Dean's guilt once he found out. Choking a girl almost to death was bad enough, but choking a sick girl almost to death? Damn, Dean was going to take this to heart. Although getting sick would explain why she sucked ass during sparring. She was usually much better at keeping up with the relentless pace Dean set to their training sessions.

Steph set the plate of food in front of Sam thirty minutes later on auto-pilot while her mind ran amok aimlessly. She sat down across from him, laying her head down on her arms, totally conked out from even this small amount of activity.

"Aren't you going to eat?" the younger Winchester asked.

She shook her head slightly, not looking up. Sam frowned. He reached over and brushed her hair out of her face as she kept staring off to the side. He sucked in a sharp breath when he noticed the bruise on her neck.

"Stephanie…" he began with trepidation. "Did Dean do this?"

The girl looked up finally and just shrugged in a way that said "it couldn't be helped" before averting her gaze again.

"Come on, look at me," Sam insisted. "You haven't said a word all evening."

"Because I can't," Steph mouthed at him, pointing to her throat.

"Oh," was all he said, a broken, defeated little sound as if he was to blame for the whole thing. "I should have gotten there faster, realized sooner what you guys were doing…"

Steph snapped her fingers at him to get his attention and gestured for him to cut that shit out immediately. If anyone was to blame it was her. She shouldn't have assumed that Dean was fine to be put in any situation that resembled a fight.

"Sure you'll be fine? We can go get a doctor to look at you…" Sam offered, even though they didn't really have money for things like that.

"And say what? Sorry, got accidentally choked?" she mouthed her rant, but realized soon enough that Sam wasn't following. Reading lips was tricky business, one he didn't exactly excel at.

The hunter sprung up from his place and searched around for a minute until he found a little notepad and a pen for Steph to use as a means of communication.

No need just give it a few days, she wrote instantly.

Sam looked at her with a look that told her that he knew that wasn't what she said initially, but he let it go anyway.

Going back to sleep, Steph scribbled again, leaving the stuff there and escaping before Sam could read it and stop her, insisting that she ate something first.

That night she slept fitfully, first too hot, then too cold, all in all, a shivering mess. Steph woke up around two in the morning, startled from a nightmare that she couldn't remember a second later, breathing hard, practically panting, with her throat on fire. There was no doubt in her mind that she had a fever, all the signs were right there. And if she had a fever then her sore throat might have been more to do with an infection than anything Dean did, although surely that did not help matters.

She almost went straight back to sleep when she thought she saw the silhouette of someone sitting in the armchair in the corner. The lights that were filtering in from the hallway under the crack of her door were just enough to vaguely make out the outlines of furniture – and apparently a person – in her room. She knew this should have freaked her out more than it did, but there were only two people besides her in the whole damn place and she didn't mind either of them watching over her.

And since Sam wouldn't have sat there in full darkness and would have at least switched the bedside lamp on…

"Dean?" she managed to croak out, her voice breaking off even with that one syllable.

"Sorry, I should go," he automatically said, assuming that he was unwelcome, already pushing himself out of the chair when Stephanie caught his arm.

"Stay," the girl whispered in a similar fashion as before, scooting over to make room for him.

Dean sat down against the headboard, remaining above the covers. She snuggled up against his hip as much she dared, letting out a contented sigh when he tentatively wove his hand through her hair.

"Shit, you are burning up," he said a second later as he felt the heat radiating off her skin, gliding his hand down to her forehead to confirm.

Steph just hummed, not denying it, but that set her off into a painful, throaty coughing fit, which she smothered into her blanket. Dean rubbed her back, his touch sending shivers across her skin that had nothing to do with illness.

"Are you cold?" Dean inquired, not knowing the reason behind her bodily responses.

She slightly shook her head, telling him no, but snuggled into his side even more anyway, and threw a hand over his legs to hold him in place for good measure, the fever short fusing her inhibitions. The hunter just chuckled at that.

"Clingy sickie, aren't we?" he mused fondly, pulling up her blanket over her exposed shoulder and arm to make sure she didn't get chilled.

Steph would have punched him probably for that comment, had she been more alert, but instead she just let unconsciousness drag her down further.