"No! No!" I try to scream as I see the two men with black eyes slaughter my parents. My brother covers my mouth before a single sound can escape my mouth. I let out a sob, which the men hear.

"Go, Skylar. Go now," my older brother demands. I start crawling further into the air vents that we've been hiding in for an hour now. I cut my hand on a nail that's sticking up. It hurts, but I keep going. I'm so scared, but I keep on crawling. I hear my brother's screams and a sob escaped my chest. I knew he was dead, and I was just happy they killed him quickly. He would be in heaven, I hoped.

Still, I can't let myself die. I keep moving. I push myself deeper and deeper into the air vents. Of course, that's my number one mistake. I end up going too far and end up crawling out on the other side of the room, one story up. The men with the black eyes appear next to me immediately and grab my arms. "Please don't hurt me!" I cry, although I know it is useless. I see the bloody and dead bodies of my family, and know that the same fate awaits me if a miracle doesn't happen.

The men tie me up to the same wooden chair they slaughtered my parents on. There is blood on the seat, so much of it. The blood stains my clothes, which are already covered in sweat, dirt, and grease. The two men stand a few feet away from me, looking at me with an amused expression. "What shall we do with her?" one of them asks. I can see from the gleam in his eye that they aren't planning anything good.

"You know, girl. We killed your whole family. Your cousins, your aunts, your uncles, your grandparents. You know why? Just for fun! Ha!" the second man says.

"What kind of sick people are you?" I say, trying for a last attempt of being brave. It's stupid, I know. I know it's pointless, waiting out the inevitable. But if I can keep them talking, then maybe, just maybe, I have a chance of living. It's slim, but it's all I've got.

"We ain't people, sweetie. We're much worse than that. You could say that we're directly descended from the devil himself," one of the men says, an evil smirk on his face.

"What's that supposed to mean?" I ask them, and I really am curious. Why not find out as much as I possibly can before I die?

"We're demons, from the pits of hell," the other says, a blood soaked smile on his face.

"Aren't demons supposed to be made out of black goo and dark matter or something?" I ask them. That's what I heard in books and stuff, so that's all I knew about them.

"Cute," one of them says. The demon turns to his friend and says, "You know what, I think she needs to die. She knows too much."

"You're right," the other says. "Can I kill her? You got to kill all the other ones. I want to make this one nice and slow and painful." I don't like the sound of that. I'm still holding out for that miracle, but as the blade approaches my neck, I know that it's not going to happen.

The blade slowly cuts into my flesh, making a thin cut. It would take days for me to bleed to death with a cut this small, I realize. The cut would heal before then. Then the demon scrapes it against my face, and I cringe, which only makes it worse. "This one's not much of a screamer, I see. Boring!" the demon says. He drives the blade towards my heart, slowly making his way. I still don't scream, even though I've never felt more intense pain in my life.

Just before he pierces the pulsing, beating, organ, a knife pops out of his chest and his eyes glow a strange orange and red. The knife is pulled back through his chest and he drops dead on the floor. I'm losing blood so fast that I can barely make out my saviors. "Cas, quick, heal her! She's going to bleed to death if we don't do something!" a gruff male voice shouts. I am about to pass out, when I feel smooth fingers on my forehead. I am instantly healed. I don't have a single scratch on me. The only remnants of my wounds is the wet blood covering my body.

I feel the rope that binds my hands and feet being sawed away. "What's your name?" the gruff male voice asks. I look in the direction I heard the voice and see three people. One is gigantically tall and moose like, one is wearing a trench coat and a suit, and the one who is talking to me is wearing a leather jacket, jeans, and a green flannel.

"Skylar," I say, although it comes out garbled. I cough up blood on the ground and try again. "Skylar," I repeat.

"How old are you, Skylar?" the same man asks me.

It takes me a while, because of what just happened. "Eleven," I say. It's strange that it took me so long to remember my age.

"Just a kid," the guy murmurs. "Do you have any extended family? Maybe an aunt or an uncle or a cousin?" he asks me.

"No," I say, shaking my head. "They're all dead. Those men, er, demons, killed them all," I say. I look at my family's dead bodies, and let another sob escape my throat. "What's going to happen with me?" I ask them, my eyes shining with tears.

Gigantor the talking moose talks to the man who's been talking to me. "Yeah, Dean, what can we do with her? There might be more demons who are still want her dead, or worse."

"I don't know, Sammy. We can't just leave her in an orphanage or something," the guy, apparently called Dean, says. They are talking in loud whispers, trying to keep me from hearing or something, I suppose. I can still hear them, so I don't see the real point.

"We can take her to Garth's," the moose man, Sammy, says.

"Look how well that turned out last time," Dean says, rolling his eyes. "She can't go there, either."

"Well, what do you suggest we do with her then, Dean? It's not like we can take her back to the bunker," Sammy says. Dean raises an eyebrow. "Dean, that's a terrible idea."

Dean comes over to me and says, before anyone can stop him, "Skylar, we have a bunker a few hours away. It's the safer than any place in the world, so you won't have to worry about demons coming to get you."

"Dean, I do not think this is a good idea," the man with the trench coat says, his voice deep and gravelly.

"She's got nobody. She's our responsibility now," Dean claims, and I can sense from what I've seen so far that, when he makes up his mind, it's hard to change it.

"Do you even know how to take care of a kid, Dean?" Sam says, and Dean shoots him a look of pure venom. "I'm sorry, I forgot about that. But she's a girl, Dean. Girls are a lot different than boys."

"Guys, I'm not that hard to take care of. Give me a credit card and make sure to feed me and I'll be okay," I object.

"See?" Dean says, gesturing towards me. "I know one thing, Sam. She's our responsibility now. You don't have to care about her; I'll take care of her regardless. I don't need your help," he says.

At this moment, I feel really warmed. This stranger is being so kind to me, even though he doesn't even know me. He's willing to take care of me, for the rest of my life, just because I have no where else to go. "Fine. Nothing's changing your mind, I can see. Let's go," Sam says, throwing his hands up.

"Um, can I take a shower first and change my clothes before we go?" I ask them. They look at me, confused. "If you haven't noticed, I'm covered in my own blood. I'd prefer not to be when I go in a long car ride," I say, being a little snarky. It's all I can do to keep from crying my eyes out.

"Okay, stuff as many clothes as you can in a duffle bag. But make sure it's all practical. T-shirts, jeans, a jacket. No frilly dresses or anything," he says.

I look at him like he's crazy. "What kind of person do you think I am?" I ask him. He doesn't seem to understand. Before I leave the room altogether, I mutter something about frilly dresses. I'm pretty sure I see Dean smile out of the corner of my eyes.

Did you know that it's really hard to wash blood out of your hair? I didn't even get hurt on my head, my hair just happened to stick to my shirt very well. I wondered if I would ever get the red tint out of my hair and off of my skin.

After scrubbing for half an hour, I realize that it's pointless. I will have the red tint to my skin for a long time, and I honestly don't even care anymore. I put on an old Fun concert T-Shirt and my favorite pair of jeans, with a pair of black combat boots and big leather jacket. It's the only sensible outfit I have, and it isn't even mine for the most part. The jeans and the jacket are my brother's. I only have the concert t-shirt because I really like the band Fun and I went to their concert a few months back. I only have combat boots because I like combat boots.

I look through my closet and realize there's nothing of mine that I can bring, so I raid my brother's closet. In a sense, I am honoring him, and remembering him. He's only two years older than me, well he was, before he died. Anyway, that means that all of his clothes are a little big on me, but not so big that I can't fit in them. The only thing I can't fit in are his shoes, which is fine.

I look in the long mirror in my room. My face is stained with blood and tears. My long copper brown hair hangs limp at my side. I don't look like the happy girl I was last week, before all this killing started. Before today, my hair served some sort of purpose. I can't remember what, but I know that there's no point in it now. I take a pair of safety scissors that I used for a recent school project and start hacking off my hair, piece by piece. Before long, it comes to a jagged edge just below my chin. I run my fingers through it, trying to make it look better, but there is no real point.

I look at myself in the mirror again, just before I start heading down the stairs. I say goodbye to Skylar Russell. I'm not sure who I will become, but the person I was before is long gone.

When I get down the stairs, Sam, Dean, and the trench coat man (I still have no clue who he is or how the hell he healed me), are waiting. "Wow, Skylar. You took so long that Cas was able to get you a fake birth certificate and passport," Dean says, in a joking tone. But I could see a piece of paper and a little blue book in the trench coat man's hand. So he is Cas. Interesting.

"You cut your hair," Sam notices. I shrug, and laugh a little on the inside when I realize my hair's shorter than his.

"Ready to go, kid?" Dean asks me. I nod, and he takes my duffle bag from me. We walk outside my house and I notice my dead family, still on the floor.

"We have to bury them," I insist.

"Sorry, we can't. The police need to find them. I'm sorry, it just has to happen that way. I know, it sucks, but it has to happen," Sam says. I look to Dean for help. He shrugs, and I know that all my hope is lost.

Dean leads me out to his car. He opens the back door for me, throwing my duffle bag in. I squeeze in next to the bag. Sam gets in the passenger seat, Dean taking the role as driver. Cas hands Dean the ID and birth certificate through the window, and then disappears. Like seriously, he disappeared right into thin air. I try not to act confused, but it's nearly impossible. "He's an angel. He does that," Dean explains briefly.

We start heading out the driveway, and I stare out the window at the miles and miles of road. Before long, I am asleep.