**Supernatural does not belong to me, nor do any of its characters, but I love them and wanted to put my own spin on what could have happened after the Darkness and God left. I hope you enjoy** PLEASE BEAR WITH THIS FIRST CHAPTER IT'S TWICE AS LONG AS ALL THE OTHERS BUT I DIDN'T WANT TO CUT IT BEFORE THE BROTHERS CAME INTO PLAY AND THE STORY REALLY GETS GOING. ALL REVIEWS ARE APPRECIATED.

Chapter 1

A booming crack shook the house as the flimsy door flung open with such force the young girl curled up on a dirty mattress threw her arms over her head and expertly rolled to the floor. Quickly finding her feet she sprang into a defensive stance, settling her eyes on the mad-eyed woman heaving for breath in the doorway. Her hair frayed and loose falling from a messy bun on top of her head, eyes filled with terror, but her voice harsh and demanding was only slightly worse than her usual tone. Snatching an army green canvas duffel bag from the corner of the tiny room she threw it on the stained mattress the teenage girl had just vacated.

"Get dressed!" She screamed, "Grab what you need, ONLY what you need Morgan there isn't time!" the mad woman clasped a bulging dark red sack in one hand and shoved it into a back corner of the duffel before she ran back into the kitchen.

"What do I need?" the white-faced girl shook her head, still buzzing with sleep, surprised the brief altercation had left her uninjured, searching frantically around the tiny space, "Mother, please, what's going on?"

"There isn't time! She's coming!" the woman growled from the kitchen over the sound of slamming cabinets and things being thrown carelessly around.

"Who's coming?!" Morgan felt her throat tighten and bit back hot tears, crying would make this so much worse, but she'd never heard terror in her Mother's voice, nothing scared her- until this night.

"MORGAN!" Followed by a loud crash overhead, as if a giant was pounding the roof, "Clothes! Spell books! EVERYTHING you need because you're never coming back to that room- now HURRY!"

At that Morgan turned back into the messy room to hide the rush of tears beginning to pour down her flushed cheeks. They'd had to flee before, but never had it been so dramatic, whatever was coming had this powerful witch terrified. Years of packing the same old canvas duffel trained Morgan well, quickly and methodically she lined the bottom with spell books, crystals and a sack of empty hex bags next to the mysterious red sack before squeezing clothes and other necessities on top. Her young eyes were just scanning the dark room for anything left behind when the middle-aged witch appeared in the doorway, now entirely out of breath.

"Are you ready?" Her mad eyes glowering from behind a frazzled mess of black hair, having finally pulled from the falling bun. Morgan barely recognized her in this disheveled and terrified state. The perpetually cold and distant woman she'd learned from always had every strand exactly where it should be, her face never revealing the thoughts behind those dark eyes and stone lips. That woman was not standing in the doorway, this was not the Mother Morgan feared her whole whole sixteen years, this woman was terrified.

"Yes, are we leaving now?" Morgan twisting her head once more around the room in search for anything left behind.

"You are," her Mother said simply, not noticing the bulging eyes, screaming at her from her daughter's color drained face. Always cold and empty she barely looked while shoving a flip phones and a hex bag into the girl's jacket pocket, "Move!"

She jerked Morgan suddenly, dragging her by the wrist to the kitchen where a large spell bowl sat on the counter half filled with bits and pieces of who-knew-what and roughly stood her shaking daughter next to it, the massive duffel slung heavy over Morgan's shoulder. Outside the small house another loud crash, like thunder without lightning, shook the foundation and her Mother's eyes flared at her with fresh terror. She grabbed an antique knife and Morgan's left hand with her other, before the girl could react she'd pressed the sharp blade into her palm pulling it through fast and spilling drops of red blood on the linoleum. She ignored her daughter's cry, but let her curl her bleeding hand into a protective fist to her chest.

"Mother, please wait, please," Morgan begged still trying to bite back tears unsuccessfully, "what's happening?"

"Morgan," she said, surprisingly calm as an even louder crash forced the old house to quake, "A witch I refused to join with is going to kill me, she's breaking my protection spells now," gesturing above to the booms that were now continuous, "I can't escape, she's more powerful than I am now with her dirty Scottish paws on the Book of the Damned, but you must keep safe. I'm sending you away to save everything I've worked for my entire life." Not to save her daughter, to save what she'd learned.

"Take this," she shoved a note in Morgan's uninjured hand, "Watch behind you always," as she spoke she dripped blood from the knife into the spell bowl and it began to smoke, "Look out for you, no one else will."

All Morgan could do was nod, watching her Mother wave the knife over the bowl muttering into it, even opening her mouth to form a word threatened tears to fall. The loudest crash yet blew the front door clear across the living room and a small, angry redheaded woman barrel through the opening. Morgan felt herself start spinning, faster and faster and was sure she was about to vomit when suddenly the reeling stopped, she'd landed hard on her knees and knuckles staring at cracked asphalt.

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For a few minutes, maybe longer, the young girl stayed on all fours despite the cold, hard ground digging into her knees. The aches of teleporting started to subside and finally she sat back on her heels, slowly observing her new surroundings, which from the delicious aroma seemed to be the back alley of a restaurant. 'Where am I?' Morgan thought, then the thought finally hit her; at this moment her Mother was almost certainly dying at the hands of the redheaded witch. Shaking confusing tears away, Morgan forced the thoughts of her Mother from her mind, she was a mentor but never a mother. 'She wouldn't want me to think of her,' Morgan thought bitterly, 'she saved me to protect her legacy.'

Pushing herself to stand, the note she'd had unceremoniously handed over crunched in Morgan's hand. Unfolding it she saw her Mother's familiar, flowing cursive scrawled fast and frantic, nothing like the writing she'd always diligently composed in spells and potions.

Your father was a hunter named John Winchester I never told him about you

He died years ago find his sons Sam and Dean they will help.

Morgan reread the short and abrasive note a dozen times at least before the information started to sink in, burning resentment rose in her chest. She always knew. Years and years asking if she knew who he was, if she remembered, maybe just a small detail, anything to jog her memory about him. She had adamantly stated for years she had no idea who he was and wouldn't know how to find him if she did. She knew, not only did she know she'd kept tabs on him if she knew he'd died. Winchester. The name was familiar, Morgan was sure she'd heard it before without giving it a second thought. He could have been one of the many hunters she'd seen sit with her mother looking for help or advice on handling a supernatural being. Under her hurried cursive was two phone numbers, the last contacts she had for John.

Morgan shoved the note into her pocket and felt the soft leather of the hex bag, she pulled it out and in the light saw symbols of protection drawn in blood, a cloaking spell of her Mother's own device. Turning the bag around a few times she realized it had hidden her travel, if anyone had tried to trace the teleportation spell from the kitchen they couldn't, as long as this had been on the traveler and the process completed with fire. Concentrating her gaze on the small bag, smoke slowly rose from the bloody markings just before a purple flame engulfed the whole thing. Dropping it to the ground, Morgan watched for a few moments as the fire died and left a small pile of ash at her feet. The last of her Mother's magical protection slowly blew away down the alley; now it was up to her.

Heaving the heavy duffel's strap back over her shoulder Morgan shuffled out of the alley towards the dark street ahead. Turning to see the diner's name "Mel's" overhanging the sidewalk above a neon sign "Open 24 Hours" she decided the first step was to find out where she was and headed through the front door.

A waitress leaning against the back counter starting at her phone looked up when the bell above the door jingled. She smiled a crooked, yellow smile, but it was genuine and warm, "How can I help you sweetie?"

"Ma'am, uh, I know this is gonna sound weird," shifting her weight under the giant bag uncomfortably, realizing just now exactly how strange this would sound, "But umm, where am I?"

The waitress shook her head but never lost the smile, "long day huh?" She placed a coffee cup on the counter in front of a stool seat.

"You have no idea," Morgan laughed darkly to herself.

"You're in Lebanon Kansas darling," pouring black liquid into the mug and gesturing Morgan to take the stool, "sit, drink!"

"I'm sorry I don't have any money," Morgan lifted both palms to show she had nothing, forgetting about the still bleeding gash across her left palm. The waitress's smile quickly faded into a look of horror and Morgan immediately shoved the bloody hand back into her jacket pocket, "I'm sorry, that's uh- that's just- I umm-"

"Sit!" She pointed to the stool in a way that took away the option and started wetting a washcloth as Morgan slowly lowered into the stool. The older lady gently took Morgan's hand and more tenderly than the girl had ever been touched in her life wiped the blood from her fingers and palm.

"Please, ma'am, I can do that," she protested, not wanting to burden this kind woman further, "I mean, thank you, really, but I can do it."

"Ok Miss Independent, I'll go grab the first aid kit, be right back."

Wiping the last few stubborn spots of dried blood Morgan noticed there was a gray bearded man fast asleep in the far corner booth. When the waitress came back around to the counter Morgan asked if she saw he'd fallen asleep at one of her tables.

"Gary? Yea, Gary sleeps here a lot of nights," her sweet smile returned as she expertly wrapped a white bandage around her left hand, "He doesn't have anywhere to go and when it's this cold out I feel for him, I'm here anyway and sometimes he's not bad company. Drink your coffee sweetie, it's not hot but it'll pick ya up anyway, I'm brewin' another pot."

"I'm sorry, but I really don't have any money," Morgan persisted uncomfortably, her eyes shifting away from the waitress's incessantly kind stare.

"It's gotta go," she shrugged keeping the same smiled, "either you drink it or the drain will, personally I'd rather know it's going to good use," and with that she pushed the mug right in front of Morgan.

"Thank you, ma'am," finally returning a small smile, Morgan started to drink without hesitation.

"So what brings you to Lebanon?"

"I have no idea," she laughed a little out loud, "like you said, long day." Morgan's mind was still racing with the words from her Mother's note and the two hastily written numbers that probably weren't even in service anymore; anxious fingers absently caressing the phone in her pocket.

"Hey Mel!" A rough voice called, Gary was up and waving happily at the waitress.

"You're Mel?" Morgan asked astonished.

She laughed out loud, "No I'm Jessica, Gary's a sweet old drunk but he's a drunk," with that she hurried to the far corner of the diner.

Morgan took the note out and reread it again focusing on the numbers. Pulling the phone out and flipping it open she started dialing the first number which promptly returned with an out of service message. Three digits into dialing the second number Morgan's brain caught up with what she was doing and her fingers stopped. 'What would I do if it worked? What would I do if it didn't? What would I even say? Why would they help anyway?' Questions and doubts filled her mind, but with limited available options she finished dialing the number, hit send and waited.

Ring. Holy Shit. Ring. What do I say? Ring. It's a wrong number. Ring. I'm so screwed. Ring. "This is Dean's cell, you know what to do." BEEP. Morgan was less prepared for a voicemail than a conversation.

"Uh my Mother gave me this number for John or Sam or Dean and she's dead now. I need help." Before she could blurt out anything else stupid Morgan snapped the phone shut and shakily lifted the coffee mug to her lips. It was probably just a different Dean's voicemail, there was no way it was them. Shaking her head Morgan started to wonder where she would go when Jessica's hospitality inevitably ran out. Ring. Her eyes bulged at the phone as she nearly spit her coffee on the counter.

Ring. Flipping it back open, the second number was calling back. Ring. Morgan hit the green answer button before her courage failed. "Umm hello?"

"Who's this?" A deep male voice asked in a no nonsense tone.

"Who's this? You called me," natural defiance from years of learned distrust sprang into action. She immediately regretted her words, however, she had called him first.

"Uh no sweetheart, you called me," his voice was milder, but he sounded hard, "I just saw the missed call, didn't get your message. So what's your name and problem?"

"My name is Morgan," keeping her voice low, "My mother gave me this number, I'm looking for the Winchesters, she said they would help me. Or might," quickly adding the end to avoid sounding presumptuous.

"Can you tell me what's going on?" He asked.

"I'm not sure I even know," she thought back over the blur that had been the last hour, "My mother is dead and she sent me to the middle of nowhere right before she was blasted to pieces by some ginger braveheart witch."

Suddenly his deep voice was inaudible, she heard him talking but couldn't make out any of the words, "Umm, hello? Dean? Sam?" Morgan asked timidly after a few seconds.

"Yea, yea I'm here and I'm Dean, hold on one second, kid," he continued another conversation in the background, Morgan heard another deep voice then Dean jumped back on the phone, "Ok, where're you at?"

"I'm at a diner in Lebanon Kansas."

"Oh!" Dean sounded happily surprised, "Which one?"

"Mel's…" All of a sudden Morgan realized this may not have been an arbitrary location.

Once more, low muffled voices exchanged comments on the other end before Dean spoke to her again, "We'll be there in ten minutes."

They hung up and Morgan stared at the phone for a minute thinking of what had just happened. She had a brother, they talked and now he was on his way to meet her. Nerves and excitement twisted Morgan's stomach in knots.

"Get a hold of your friend?" Jessica asked sweetly topping the mug off with fresh, hot coffee.

"Um, yea, I did. They're actually on their way, I guess they're not far," Morgan peered out the window into the darkness and only saw herself and the diner reflected back. A lonely young girl with a bandaged hand and a beaten up old duffel bag holding together her entire life.

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The low rumble sound could be heard before headlights lit up the diner's window. A dark muscle car pulled into a front spot and idled purposefully before the engine was cut and the front doors squeaked open then slammed shut. Two large men dressed in jeans, flannels and boots were engaged in a conversation as they walked into the diner, jingling the bell again. The shorter of the two walked right up to Morgan as she fumbled to get off the stool, the taller one with long hair followed right behind him.

"Morgan?" the same deep voice from the phone now towering easily a foot over Morgan. He was broad and hard looking; his face wasn't unkind but she could tell this man was all business.

"Yea, hi," narrowing her eyes a little at him, "Dean?"

He nodded and jerked his thumb towards the man behind him, "This is my brother, Sam."

"Hi Sam," Morgan shook both their hands.

Sam's smile was soft, but his grip was reassuring of the clear strength beneath those broad shoulders. He was several inches taller than Dean and Morgan had to recline her head even further to meet his eyes.

Jessica came walking over and her face lit up when she laid eyes on the two men, "Oh, these two!" She exclaimed clutching her wrinkled and worn hands to her chest, "Boys, are you eating?"

"You know us too well, ma'am," Dean' smile was charming, a smile Morgan could tell had gotten him out of more messes than he probably even appreciated.

"Now hold on," Jessica closed her eyes and waved her hands at them, "let me guess," peeking through squinting eyes she pointed at Dean, "Bacon cheeseburger extra onions?" She was rewarded with another shining smile and a wink that brought a soft pink glow to Jessica's cheeks.

"Darling," looking to Sam now, her shoulders drooped in a defeated way, "I always forget if you're a chicken salad or a wrap."

Sam's smile and head nod silently said he was used to Dean being remembered better by women than him, "I always switch it up, but tonight I think I'll just stick with a burger please."

"And this young lady?" She directed their attention towards Morgan.

"Oh, no," shaking her head despite the pangs growing deep down for a meal, "I'm ok, and I don't- um," the sentence dragged out into the air where it sat awkwardly waiting to be finished, a low, loud growl from under her jacket rose to the occasion.

Morgan felt Dean staring at her, his eyes hot on the side of her face as she forced herself to hold composure and not start crying at the small reminder of the pathetic situation her life had crumbled into in the last couple hours. Food, like everything, had been scarce, but Morgan had always done well fending for herself, at least when she knew where she was. Independence had been beaten into her so as not to be a burden to her mother, or anyone else. The scratched, white counter blurred in front of Morgan's eyes as she fought the tears trying to escape, tightness returned to the back of her throat and heat was rising from her ears and cheeks.

"Morgan," Dean's steady voice was accompanied by a gentle hand resting on her shoulder giving a reassuring squeeze. She turned her head slightly and peered at him through wet eyes, his face was battle worn and stern but an unmistakable sweetness in the slight upturn of his mouth and gleam in his eyes gave her a reassuring feeling of safety, "Can I buy you a burger?"

Morgan nodded wiping her cheeks and eyes with the dirty sleeve of her jacket.

"Ok what do you want?" He coaxed.

"Can I please get the same thing as him ma'am?" Morgan quietly asked, looking up at Jessica.

"Coming right up!" And off she went to the kitchen.

Sam tapped Dean on the shoulder and gestured to a booth in the empty front corner, Dean nodded, "c'mere Morgan, let's talk."

Standing up Morgan braced herself to move the gigantic bag again. Grabbing the duffel's strap with both hands she bent her knees slightly and tugged up hard nearly toppling backwards when the weight wasn't nearly what it had been. Sam chuckled with his hand on her back in support and his other effortlessly dangling the bag off the ground, "Sorry," he smiled, "tryin' to help."

Sam and Dean sat on one side of the booth and Morgan situated herself on the other, they sat and sipped coffee silently for a minute before Dean spoke.

"Ok, kid, talk," he said, but being met with Morgan's blank expression he continued, "Let's start with who you are- you said your mother was a witch. What was her name?"

She nodded, "My Mother was Ceralia, a very powerful witch from Iceland originally but she's been here many years. Or was here many years I guess," Morgan stopped and looked down, bombarded again with thoughts about the attack her Mother couldn't have survived.

Dean was nodding and looked at Sam whose forehead was furrowed into a concentrated stare as he slowly nodded and met eyes with Dean. "I think so," Sam confirmed a question Dean didn't ask.

"Right?" Dean asked excitedly, "I'm almost positive."

"No, it definitely was," Sam was nodding vigorously now, "couldn't possibly be another one and I'm positive I've read it a dozen times."

"What?" Morgan interjected, afraid they'd forget she was here, "What are you talking about?"

"Your mom," Dean answered, "our Dad's journal mentioned her a couple times."

The mention of John Winchester sent a flash of heat through Morgan and she was sure they saw the flush in her face, but neither of them seemed to notice, "Mother kept me away from her work with hunters, I rarely saw any of them."

"So what happened tonight?" Sam leaned his forearms on the table, his full attention on the young girl sitting nervously across from him.

The question was overwhelming. Morgan took a breath and gulp of warm coffee before meeting their eyes, "I never saw my mother scared before tonight. She said a witch she refused to join was after her, it's hard to believe my mother was scared of another witch, she was very powerful, one of the best," she shrugged, "but she said something about a book giving her more power, it all happened really fast I don't know. She woke me up and made me pack everything in this," she kicked the pack without moving it an inch. Her eyes widened in fear briefly as the dark red sack flashed in the front of her mind and silently hoped nothing was fragile.

"What?" Dean asked gruffly.

"Nothing," She shook her head, partially from the echo of her Mother's warning never to trust anyone, "This, uh, this tiny witch with bright red hair blew the front door across the house just as Mother's spell sent me flying here."

"Why here?" Sam asked.

"I don't know," she lied.

"Ok," Dean started, "this book she mentioned the other witch was using, did it have a name?"

Morgan thought hard over the flurry of words her Mother had spoken in the midst of the booming attack overhead, 'her dirty Scottish paws on…' On what? "The book of …" Morgan wondered out loud trailing off at the words she couldn't find.

"The Book of the Damned?" Sam asked eyes widened.

"Yes!" Morgan yelled but covered her mouth immediately noticing how loud she'd gotten. Sam and Dean exchanged concerned looks, Morgan felt a rock drop into the bottom of her stomach, "How'd you know?"

"We'll talk about it later," Dean grumbled firmly as Jessica approached balancing three white plates piled high with fries.

"Can I get you anything else for now?" she asked cheerfully.

"No ma'am," Dean answered, "we're all good, thank you."

"Well enjoy," she patted Dean's shoulder and returned to leaning behind the counter on her phone.

The first juicy bite instigated a soft moan Morgan tried to cover, but they were both staring at her like a starving, stray cat. It had been a few days since she'd last eaten, maybe more, her Mother always ate very seldom and intermittently so she'd learned to eat what she could when she could. Occasionally stealing snack foods from neighbors or local stores, she'd only been caught once, resulting in her Mother locking her away for days with no food or water. She was never caught again.

Morgan shoved the last large bite of burger into her half full mouth and immediately grabbed a few fries just as she looked up and saw four wide eyes staring at her in awe. Realizing how disgustingly gluttonous she was being Morgan slowly put the fries down and lowered her head chewing the half cow she'd shoved in her mouth as quickly as possible.

Dean started laughing, "Go on kid," he chuckled, "I've just never seen anyone out eat me, I'm impressed." She smiled, still a little embarrassed, but with his blessing started in on the fries slightly less vigorously than before.

"Ok so," Dean spoke through a mouth full of burger, "where you stayin'?"

The rock rolling around Morgan's stomach returned. She hadn't really considered the next move after the diner, the whole night had been a blur of massive life changes and quick decisions. Returning the fries she was about to gulp down to the plate, Morgan sat back and stared at the bandage wrapped around her hand, watching light red dots grow slowly larger on the gauze. She stopped shoving the intrusive thoughts aside and finally allowed the events of the last few hours to take over. Her stoic Mother frantic, the house shaking, slicing Morgan's hand open without warning or pity, her parting orders to protect her precious knowledge and a few messy words on a scrap of paper with the power to turn her daughter's entire identity upside down. The burger sat uncomfortably in the center of Morgan's rib cage before threatening to resurface. She bolted from the table to the women's restroom across the diner.

Violently her insides released barely after she'd thrown herself to still sore knees in front the first stall's toilet. Everything released. The damn of tears being held back since her Mother burst in screaming and terrified broke. Fat teardrops followed bits of whole meat and partially digested tomatoes into dirtied water inches from Morgan's face. Eventually, her body stopped retching, wiped her mouth and flushed the evidence of her fears. But she couldn't muster the strength to get up from the dingy tile floor and just leaned against the wall hugging her knees, sobbing. Alone on the dirty bathroom floor of a diner in a place she couldn't even picture on a map, her Mother's final instructions to protect her legacy echoing in her ears. The questions she wouldn't get answers to raced through her head as she sat and bawled, the bathroom stall seemed to be getting smaller with each overwhelming thought.

A light knock tapped on the door as it creaked open a few inches, "Morgan?" Sam's voice called into small space, "Are you ok?"

"N-no," her mouth answered before she could force her brain to stop and a new wave of tears sent the scared young girl back into a sobbing mess.

He pulled the stall door open and crouched his massive frame in the tiny space of the stall doorway and put a heavy hand tenderly on her shaking shoulder. Opening her tear filled eyes a wad of toilet paper was being offered from his other hand and she nodded in thanks, taking it from him. Trying hard to compose herself, Morgan continued to burst into uncontrollable bouts of bawling for another minute as Sam just rubbed her upper back silently. Her breathing evened out after a minute and the whole-body convulsions she'd been experiencing stopped, but when Sam moved to stand up a fresh feeling of lonely dread engulfed her and without thinking Morgan grabbed his arm, "please don't leave me!" The pathetic cry burst passed her lips and hung heavy in the air between them. Ashamed and embarrassed, she quickly released her grip on his jacket, eyes locked back on the tile floor.

"Hey," he knelt down again and lifted her chin with a finger to look him in the eyes, "I'm not going anywhere, I promise ok? It's ok to be scared, Morgan and I'm not leaving you don't worry. I was just gonna get a wet towel to wipe your face, ok?"

She nodded and he stroked her hair before standing and taking one giant stride to the sink. Another quick knock on the door was immediately followed by Dean poking his head in, "Can I join the party?"

"Sure," Morgan murmured softly. Feeling had returned to her legs and shakily she stood, taking the damp paper towel from Sam, "thanks."

"Look, kid," Dean started, "you've clearly had a rough night. I'm assuming you didn't already have a plan for a place to crash?" Morgan shook her head in confirmation of his assumption, "ok, so you're coming home with us then, I know you don't know us and-oomph!" Dean's sentence ended abruptly when Morgan's body again reacted in emotion not reason and she'd thrown her arms around his middle, a few fresh tears fell on his t-shirt. Letting go almost immediately, Morgan was ready to apologize for the outburst but found he'd wrapped his strong arms around her, rubbing her back while quietly shushing and holding her tight. For just a minute Morgan let herself enjoy the security his hug gave and held onto her big brother.

"I'm sorry," she pushed away, "I'm a mess," wiping her face again with the moist towel, "I'm not normally this crazy I swear."

"Morgan," Sam spoke up, "you're not crazy, most people wouldn't even be standing after what you went through tonight. We just wanna help."

"Let's move this powwow to the bunker huh kids?" Dean patted Sam on the back twice and opened the door for them to go ahead of him. Sam took three strides to the duffel and hoisted it effortlessly over his shoulder.

"You ok sweetie?" Jessica came around the corner with a smile and a plastic bag full of to go boxes handing them over the counter to Morgan, "I threw a few extras in for ya since I can't imagine you got much outta that burger."

"Thank you, ma'am" managing a small smile and taking the plastic handles from her Morgan then turned to where Sam was holding the door and followed Dean outside.

A beautiful black four door muscle car sat proudly in the first spot gleaming under the street lights. Sam walked around the back, tossing the massive bag in the trunk as Dean opened the rear driver's door offering to take the to-go bag as Morgan went to climb in the backseat.

"I got it," and with a smirk she said, "don't worry I won't let any of this get on your baby."

"How'd you know that?" Sam turned his head back from the passenger seat.

"Know what?" Securing the crinkling bag on her lap after latching the middle lap belt.

"Dean's name for the car, it's Baby."

"I would too, it's a beautiful car," silently Morgan hoped Dean hadn't thought her lighthearted joke was more than a coincidence.

"Thanks," a low grumble came from Dean as he turned the engine over and a loud roar accompanied a soft but strong vibration. An involuntary giggle escaped the backseat and an unexpected broad smile had spread across Morgan's face. Dean's eyes met hers in the rearview mirror as he backed the powerful sedan into the empty street, "ya like that?" She nodded her head vigorously and before she knew what was coming the back tires were screaming as they fishtailed down the road.

"Ok, listen kid," Dean broke the silence and glanced again in the rearview mirror as the lights of Lebanon faded behind the black sedan. Outside the windows, dawn's soft gray light was slowly rising over a cornfield but she turned her attention forward at Dean's command, "I wouldn't be doin' this if I had a bad feeling, but where we're going is secret and it needs to stay that way. Understand?" His tone was no nonsense, clearly used to giving orders and having them followed.

"Yes, sir," Morgan's response was automatic. She wanted to tell him she had no idea where they were and didn't know anybody anyway, but doubted it would matter.

"So, Morgan," Sam again turned the side of his face towards the backseat, "how old are you?"

"Sixteen."

Sam nodded, "Where'd you grow up?"

"We uh moved around a- WOAH SHIT!" Shock attacked as if lightning hit every side of her thin body, but after a moment it vanished as quick as it came. Shaking her head, Morgan opened her eyes to find Sam and Dean staring at her, the car idling on the lonely country road.

Simultaneously Sam asked if she was alright as Dean barked, "What the hell was that?!"

'The reason I ended up behind a diner,' Morgan thought before answering, "I'm assuming this place is warded."

"Big time," Dean nodded, "that a problem?"

"No," she shook her head, "I just haven't had a ton of practice passing through heavy protection spells. Kinda stings," trying to shrug off the fit they just seen, she tightening her grip around the bag of cardboard containers still sitting secure on her lap.

Dean nodded as if to say thanks for not letting that food fly all over his backseat and turned back to the road, continuing through the darkness. A few minutes later they curved around an abandoned factory into thick woods, Morgan's Mother's voice again yelled a warning through her head not to trust anyone; the point of no return had been getting in the car, now she just had to hope she could trust them. The next turn did nothing to ease her concern as the car cautiously rumbled through the entrance of a cave.

"Holy caves Batman, we're not in Kansas anymore," Morgan mumbled more to herself than anything but Sam and Dean looked at each other and grinned.

"We are still in Kansas, Dorothy," Dean chuckled, "But I'll take Batman."

She didn't know how Dean knew where he was going, multiple paths sprang up every few feet but he confidently turned the wheel left and right as they slowly crept past stone walls. Unable to stop herself, Morgan let out a cynical giggle as he turned sharply to the left again.

"What's so funny kid?" Dean asked slightly turning his head.

"Nothing," shaking her head and smiling a little, "it's just that I didn't know where we were before," another giggle escaped, "your secret hideout is safe trust me."

The headlights lit up a large wooden door just ahead at the end of the last tunnel and Dean brought the car to an idle as Sam got out, unlocked and pushed the heavy doors open. Bright light sliced through the darkness making it impossible to see passed the doors for a moment but as her eyes adjusted and Dean drove through Morgan couldn't believe what she was seeing. An immaculately kept garage bigger than any house she'd ever lived in contained two straight lines of classic cars and motorcycles on either side. Dean parked between them, got out and opened the backdoor reaching for the diner bag. Handing it to him, Morgan scooted out the rear driver's door, head swiveling, afraid to miss something in this incredible place.

The trunk slam got her attention and Sam was again hoisting the duffel onto his shoulder, "Sam," she protested, "Thank you but really I can get that."

He laughed and lifted the bag up and down a few times with one arm, "I bet this thing weighs more that you do! I got it, don't worry." He clapped his other hand on her shoulder and gave a gentle push to follow Dean down the concrete steps into a clean, tiled hallway.

For a minute, they walked in silence through a maze of identical hallways before the room opened into a huge space with ancient looking machines covering one wall and a large table in the center displaying an intricate map of the world. Morgan's neck was starting to ache but she couldn't stop turning to look at everything, trying to absorb the entire space at once. Dean flicked a switch and lights sprang to life from the room on the left, her jaw dropped and feet instinctively walked towards the massive library.

"Awesome," was all she could manage, gingerly running her fingers down a row of ancient spines before realizing her intrusion and snatching her hand back, "sorry."

"No worries, kid," Dean smiled, "We went geek in here the first time too. Just keep your hands off that sword," pointing to an old curved saber displayed on a low shelf, "it's very sharp."

Sam lowered the duffel onto one of the solid wooden tables with a thud as Dean's pocket starting blaring a guitar riff. He dug his phone from his pocket, checked the caller ID, glanced at Sam with a look Sam clearly understood and stalked down the stairs out of ear shot as he answered curtly, "what?"

"So," Sam took Morgan's attention from Dean's mysterious call, "You ready to try and dig in again?" Gesturing the stack of to-go boxes on the table.

Her stomach was growling again but was still recovering from the nauseous episode earlier, "Almost, uh no chance you have any Sprite or something?"

"Ya know," he knocked on the table, "I think we have some ginger ale. S'that work?"

Morgan nodded and his long strides quickly took him down the stairs disappearing behind the same wall as Dean. Just moments after Sam left the library Dean came up the stairs shoving his phone back in his front jeans pocket.

Trying to hide concern as he forced a smile, "Sam's grabbing some drinks so get comfy," Dean started removing boxes from the plastic bag and setting them around the table. Opening one he threw his head back a little with a genuine smile, "mmm pie," grabbing a plastic fork he shoveled in his first bite barely before he'd even sat down. Sam returned with two beers and a ginger ale, handing Morgan the drink can he popped the caps off the bottles and slid Dean's next to the nearly disappeared pie.

Morgan cracked open the cold can and took a few short sips before opening a box with another slice of blueberry pie, digging a fork in with as much enthusiasm as Dean. This was much better than the pre-packaged gas station pies she'd occasionally had a chance to steal, this was flavor exploding heaven.

"So whatcha got in here?" Sam had thrown his feet on the table and tapped the colossal bag with his boot.

"Jus' m'suff," Morgan's response was muffled in a mouthful of blueberry filling and pastry, she covered her mouth and swallowed hard, "sorry, umm pretty much everything. Clothes, books and umm," the dark red bag jumped into the spotlight of Morgan's thoughts and she said hastily, "I don't know that's about it."

They gave her identical distrusting looks before glancing at each other. Dean nodded at Sam, took a long gulp from his beer, set it lightly on the table he was leaning against and stood to his full, intimidating height. Silently he started to unzip the duffel bag and Morgan jumped up in protest, "Hey, man!"

"Hey, what?" He asked calmly but the look in his eyes made it very clear he would not be arguing his decision, "Is there anything in here we should be concerned about Morgan?" The question made her realize it wasn't just about her trusting them, they weren't sure if they could trust her and she was the stranger in their home.

With the red bag throbbing in the forefront of her mind Morgan felt her nerves take over again. Hot tears pricked her eyes again, not sure how to explain, "I don't know," was all she could manage.

"You don't know," Dean dropped his hand from the zipper and turned his full attention to her, his towering frame even broader with his hands on his hips.

She shook her head adamantly, "Mother put something in there, I think I'm supposed to keep it safe," she shrugged wiping stray tears away with the dirty jacket sleeve, "but I don't know what it is."

Dean accessed the timid girl in front of him, then the bag and zipped it closed again, "I believe you, let's find you a room to crash in before we start digging through this thing, ok?"

"Ok," Morgan nodded and reached for the duffel's strap, but Dean put a hand on her arm and shook his head.

"Finish your pie," he smirked, "and you are not carrying this, I don't even understand how you got it into the diner!"

"Yea," Sam interjected, "I'm still wondering how you ended up there. Do you know what kind of spell your mom used?"

'A blood spell', "It wasn't anything I'd know how to do," avoiding the direct lie Morgan still felt blood pulsing hard in her ears.

"So, what do you know how to do?" Sam asked intrigued, kicking his feet down he leaned forward putting his forearms on his knees.

Morgan smiled and a sudden jolt of excitement tingled to her fingertips, never missing a chance to show off her magic, even as basic as it was. She stabbed a fork into the flaky top of the remaining pie she hadn't devoured and focused her concentration on the white plastic handle. Her Mother had made sure everything she'd learned had been perfected obsessively, Morgan muttered under her breath and instantly the fork started shivering then scooped a bite of pie into the air, floating momentarily before slowly moving towards her waiting mouth. She closed her lips, pulled the fork out, placing it next to the pie and looked at them both. Sam nodded in what almost looked like approval, but Dean's face was stern and his arms crossed.

"I'm learning," Morgan felt the instinctual urge to defend herself, "I can do other things, I haven't even opened a few of my books yet and now I have Mother's too and I wasn't allowed to touch them before so there's a lot I still don't know."

Dean nodded finally and she abruptly stopped rambling, "So," he started looking her directly in the eyes, "are you a good witch or a bad witch?"

Morgan wished she had the courage to show them that scrap of paper still folded in her pocket, she'd always known there was a reason she didn't understand the cold Viking blood that coursed Mother's veins. She had tried to run the weakness out of her daughter every way she knew, but Morgan was relentlessly kindhearted and Ceralia had hated her for it. Her Mother was not an evil witch, she never had malicious intentions for the world, just her daughter. Her selfishness was no secret, she strived to gather all the magical knowledge her sharp fingers could reach. When it was convenient for her and she could get something out of it she helped others on their particularly difficult trials, but beyond that they'd lived a very secluded life.

"I'm barely a witch," Morgan smirked, "but I'm a good witch," Dean kept his intense eye contact and lowered his head a tiny bit, looking even more intimidating, "I swear," he nodded finally. Morgan felt her shoulders relax.

"Ok well," he grabbed the monstrous duffel with one hand and swung it onto his back, "let's find you a bed, kiddo. Ya done there?"

She stuffed the last giant bite of pie in her mouth and turned nodding at Dean as Sam burst out laughing, "Dean, I think we found your mini-me."

Morgan blushed and Dean laughed too, "Seriously! It's a compliment kiddo," winking as she tried to inconspicuously gulp down the oversized bite.

Dean walked down the stairs and around the corner to another brightly lit hallway exactly the same as the others, Morgan followed and Sam shortened his stride to walk next to her. They passed a few wooden doors each carved with the same symbol and numbered before Dean stopped and opened 23, gesturing the younger two in first. The room was simple and clean with a sink in one corner, a desk in the other and a dark wood dresser lined the opposite wall, between sat a comfortable looking bed with a single pillow. Dean tossed the duffel on the bed and didn't waste time unzipping it all the way.

"Ok," his ears turned a faint pink, "I'm guessing all the witchy stuff is under the uh, um…"

"My underwear," Morgan cocked her head and gave him her best you deserve it smirk.

He nodded and backed away letting her scoop all of the squished clothing easily with both hands, tossing the pile of ratty fabric on the short dresser. Before Dean had a chance, she'd reached back in and started removing each large, hardbound spell book stacking them on the bed carefully. Sam grabbed a particularly ancient one and carefully examined the flaking spine, but Dean kept his eyes on what else was coming out of the bag. Finally placing the last book on top of the third pile she grabbed her bag of witch's tools, leaving the dark red sack shoved in the back corner.

"What's that?" Dean demanded more than he asked.

"Hex bag stuff," at his alarmed eyes Morgan continued, "and my crystals and other generally witchy things."

"Yea," he wrapped his hand around the bag, taking it from her, "I'll hold onto that."

Anger flashed in her eyes because the next look Dean gave was a silent "try me". Deciding it wasn't worth the fight and knowing her pilfering skills were second to none Morgan just shrugged at him pretending she didn't care he didn't trust her, but distinctly noticing the feeling of hot rage bubbling in her chest. Maybe I shouldn't be trusting him, she thought and her attention promptly returned to the bag hidden in the back corner of the duffel.

"What was it you didn't know about that you're Mom gave you?" Sam asked.

Trying to think quickly she searched the books but couldn't create a reason why any one of them was special. Dean's distrust at that moment made her rethink the position she was in, baring her tiny, shambled life to two strange men in an underground fortress miles from anywhere. She badly wanted to grab the red sack and run, but knew it was pointless. Even if she could outrun Sam's long legs she had no idea how to get out of this maze, let alone where to go if she did make it out. She'd have to sneak out when the chance arose. Sam must have recognized the look of a terrified animal searching for a path to safety because he pulled Morgan next to him and left his arm around her shoulder.

"Morgan," he sat on the bed bringing her with him and looked down with hazel eyes, pieces of his long hair falling in his face, "Dean and I have been fighting monsters and demons our whole lives, you don't strike either of us as evil. But we've also learned to take precautions," nodding to the bag still clutched in Dean's hand, "I promise, as long as there isn't a reason you shouldn't, you'll get that back. Let's just get to know each other a little ok?" His eyes were kind, but Dean still glowered with speculation. Morgan nodded at Sam, not believing a word.

Dean pulled the dark red sack out of its corner, holding it up and turning it in his hands under the light, "this it?"

"That's all that's left, isn't it?" She stared back at him with a blank expression, biting back anger. Sam gently shook her shoulders getting the attention back to him.

"Why don't we let you clean up and get comfy," he smiled and stood up from the bed.

"What? No!" Jumping up she blocked Dean from leaving the room with the sack her Mother had given her to keep safe. All the emotion she'd been holding down exploded in a fit of loud anger, "I don't even know what it is! You can't just take it you jerk! Let me go, just give me my stuff and show me the door, I'll walk!"

They both stared with open eyes and shocked expressions, taking her chance Morgan grabbed for the bag in Dean's hand but he quickly shot his arm in the air above his head and far out of reach. Determined in her rage, Morgan jumped with grasping hands, but got a sinking feeling when her feet didn't touch back down. Dean's other arm had wrapped around her tiny torso midair and held her firmly sideways like a petulant toddler having a tantrum in a department store. The position would have normally embarrassed Morgan but her fit hadn't subsided yet enough to do more than kick, squirm and yelled for him to let her go.

"I will let you go when you calm your ass down!" Dean's voice was loud and had a tone that made her freeze.

"Fine," she went limp in his strong hold, not ready to give up the fight but accepting that she didn't have a foothold in the current situation.

He hesitantly lowered her to her feet and helped as she regained her stance but consciously kept both bags out of reach. She retched herself away, glowering at him angry and offended. Looking up at both large men Morgan realized how helpless she was, seeing her duffel emptied all over a strange room and staring at the one thing her Mother trusted her with tight in Dean's fist sent an overwhelming wave of failure crashing over her. Again, her throat tightened and the familiar feeling of fighting the tears welling in her eyes started to overtake her, but she determinedly shook her head and swallowed it all deep down before looking up into Dean's face.

"You have it," her voice cracked, waving her hand uncaringly at the velvet red bag, "Can I go now?"

Dean's forehead furrowed and for just a second and he almost looked hurt, "No, you can't," he said simply, looking at the bag in his hands, "you have no idea what's in here?"

"No," she stared at him, still seething, "I don't."

"Would you like to?"

Surprise at the invitation must have been all over her face because Dean scoffed, "I'm not that big of a jerk, kid, but I'd like to take some precautions here if that's ok."

Nodding, Morgan felt the knot of anger untwist itself a little in her gut. She released tightly clenched fists, begrudgingly she admitted to herself he had a good point, "ok so open it," but not yet ready to lose the edgy tone.

Dean narrowed his eyes sternly at her and Sam shifted his eyes between his brother and the defiant teenage girl with a concerned look. Dean was not a patient man.

"Morgan," Dean took a labored, deep breath, "wash your face, change your clothes and then we'll look at this together, somewhere a little safer. We won't open it without you, I promise."

She nodded with no intention of doing any of those things. Moving away from the door, she sat on the bed and defeatedly put her head in her hands. Waiting for them to leave she mentally started repacking the duffel with what was left, wondering how fast she could get out of here.

Quickly Dean exited with both sacks he'd taken and turned down the hallway the direction they'd come, Sam however leaned against the door frame, "I know Dean's a bit," Sam hesitated searching for the right word.

"Of a jerk?" Morgan offered glancing at Sam who chuckled.

"Yea," he nodded, "trust me, no one knows better than I do. But listen, there's some things goin' on out there that we have to be really careful about and we're not sure how you fit into it all yet-"

"How I fit?" she interrupted, "In what?"

Sam took a deep breath, peering out the door to check Dean was out of earshot, "That witch you saw tonight," sitting on the bed he continued, "Her name is Rowena, we're not sure what she's involved in this time, but if the rumors we're hearing are right it involves one of the evilest things there's ever been. She's used The Book of the Damn before to intimidate witch's into joining her but this time we think she's being used in someone else's plan, it's possible your mom was-"

"Mother," Morgan interjected bitterly and Sam cocked his head in a quizzical look, "you keep calling her mom, she was my Mother, more of a mentor and drill sergeant really," at the words drill sergeant Sam gave an understanding nod.

"I can get that," he continued, "But we haven't heard of her attacking others the way she did tonight. Something was important enough for Rowena to go after your Mother as hard as she did, we just need to figure out what."

"Well you have whatever it is," she shrugged, trying to look indifferent, "I'm sure you're better suited to keep it safe, anyway," standing up Morgan started packing her books back into the duffel bag. She needed to rely on herself, as usual.

"Morgan," Sam's voice was steady and low, "we're gonna need your help and for all we know they're coming after you next," she stopped, having not even considered they'd chase her down.

"Why would she?" Hugging one of her Mother's spell books to her chest looking down at Sam still sitting on the neatly made bed, "I'm barely a witch, I'd be useless to her."

"Trust me, that's not true," he shook his head, "I know you're good at taking care of yourself, you've obviously been doing it a while," he reached out and gently wrapped his hand around her upper arm, "we'd just like to help."

Morgan couldn't resist a smile as this strong, daunting man looked at her with puppy dog eyes, "Maybe you do, but," nodding to the door, "I think your brother wants to burn me at the stake."

Sam smiled and stood to his full height, "Dean takes a little getting used to, but he's a good guy," taking hold of the door knob he finished, "wash up and change, I'll come check on you in a bit," he closed the door and left Morgan alone.

The analog clock on the wall showed it was nearly seven in the morning, a few hours ago felt like years as Morgan again went over the events of the night. There wasn't anywhere for her to go. Maybe she could sneak passed them, manage to find her way through the maze back to the garage and somehow through the heavy, locked doors, but then what? If the hallways here were a maze there was no way she'd find her way out of that cave and even if she did, she knew they were miles from anywhere resembling civilization. The point of no return had come and gone. Morgan begrudgingly accepted, for now, she was stuck.

Sifting through the pile of what was left of her wardrobe she picked up the only pair of sweatpants and a Foo Fighters t-shirt, stolen last year from a thrift store after her Mother had finally noticed the bloody toes of her socks and bought her boots that fit. Morgan briefly considered putting the rest of her clothes in the dresser but immediately thought better of it, knowing she wouldn't be here long enough and shoved them back into the duffel before dropping it to the floor with a heavy thud. Even though Dean still had her bag of witchcraft Morgan felt instant relief seeing the duffel packed with everything else, ready to go at a moment's notice.

She stripped off the old army jacket, splattered with dried blood and dirt, and hung it on the hook behind the door. Peeling her dusty jeans off Morgan wasn't expecting the sharp pain as the denim pulled ragged skin from her knees and she let out an involuntary whimper. Both knees were covered in blood and badly torn open, she shuffled a few feet to the sink turning on the faucet and grabbing a nearby washcloth. She eased the tattered pants off all the way waiting for the water to warm before dabbing her bloody knees with the damp cloth. Fresh blood kept slowly trickling from the wounds and Morgan wished she knew the healing spells her Mother had assured her recently she would be learning before the month was out. A pang stabbed her chest, appreciating from now on, she had to teach herself.

Gingerly she pulled the cotton pants over the open sores, immediately feeling the fabric stick on her warm blood and rolled each pant leg above her knees, sighing at the instant relief of cool air. Quickly changing into the clean t-shirt, she threw the sweat drenched one on the bloody jeans next to her duffel. Lastly, Morgan pulled her Mother's note from her jacket, read it once again and shoved it in the pocket of her sweatpants.

A solid double knock sounded on the door followed by Sam's voice, "Morgan?"

"Yea, come on in, Sam," continuing to dab fresh blood with the reddening washcloth.

"Hey, Dean and I were gonna-" he opened the door and stopped, looking at her bloodied and torn knees.

"Yea," her focus still on cleaning her knees with the now blood soaked rag, "you don't have a bandage or somethin', do you?"

Looking up, Morgan saw Sam was already gone but within a few seconds he reappeared carrying a large tackle box. He knelt on the hard tile in front of where she sat on the bed and opened the lid revealing a tiny emergency room. Beyond the basic gauze, bandages and peroxide there was a stitching kit, arm slings, herbs Morgan didn't even recognize and dozens of prescription bottles with as many names.

Sam dropped some liquid from a clear bottle on a cotton pad and paused, looking up at Morgan, "this is gonna sting," waiting for her nod before gently applying the ointment. She responded with a quick jerk of her head, not quite prepared for the overwhelming sting quickly spreading through her leg. Clenching her jaw and fists she held back a cry at the searing pain as he repeated the process again. Sam worked quickly and one knee was nearly wrapped by the time Morgan was breathing normally again.

"Ok," he finished the last wrapping and stood up, "good?" Morgan nodded pushing her pant legs down, "Good. Dean's waiting, come on," and she followed Sam out into the hallway.

"This is my room by the way," he knocked on the next door, "and Dean's across," pointing to room 22 as they passed. Morgan nodded, but made a mental note to check there first for her bag, once he was distracted or asleep.

Walking stiffly back through the huge main room Morgan thought they were moving towards the garage but Sam turned right heading down a descending hallway and another rush of invisible power pass through her as she stepped over the threshold to these chambers. Seeing the many symbols carved into the ceiling and floor Morgan couldn't help but wonder the kinds of evils that had seen these walls. Following Sam through a door on the left it seemed like a typical storage room at first but the back wall of shelves was open revealing another room, a room that could only be described as a dungeon. Chains hung from the wall and ceiling, a huge devil's trap covered the entire floor and one wall housed a cabinet, the door wide open, displaying an arrangement of torture devices.

Morgan went cold with fear, stuck with bare feet frozen at the entrance of their chamber of torment. The instinct to flee stronger than ever, but her body wouldn't move. Sam hadn't noticed she's stopped moving, he was across the room by the time Morgan finally regained control of herself and without any more hesitation, bolted back up the hallway as fast as she could. 'I can replace everything or live without it, but I'm gonna live!' She thought frantically just as she reached the main hall and heard them yelling behind her. She skidded around a turn hoping her memory was taking her back to the garage and she could get there before them. Her heart pounding hard she frantically took another turn into another identical corridor.

"Morgan wait!" Sam's call and the sound of running boots behind her only encouraged a faster sprint.

Turning right then left, Morgan shortly ran into a dead end. Pivoting quickly, she smacked right into Dean's broad chest and immediately found herself staring at the floor flipped over his shoulder in one easy move. Her stomach churned with terror, tears streaming over her forehead wetting her hair as she fought hard to be released. Sam's feet came into her view as he ran up and Dean marched back towards the dungeon, ignoring the tiny fists pounding his back.

"Dean," Sam pleaded, "please man, she's scared, I didn't even warn her before we walked in there. Come on put her down, let me talk to her."

"P-p-please d-don't k-kill meeeeee," the pathetic cry behind him broke the anger in Dean's face and he gently righted her back to her feet. He did not however let go of his firm grip on her upper arms.

"Kill you?" he was almost laughing; which Morgan did not appreciate. Although she considered she should be thankful she was back on her feet, Dean was setting an uncomfortable precedence.

"Morgan," Sam stepped in, "I'm sorry, I should have warned you," he looked genuinely apologetic and concerned, "That room has extra warding and since we didn't know what we were dealing with it seemed the best place to open your Mother's bag, just in case."

"So," embarrassment suddenly colored her cheeks, "you're not going to torture me?"

Dean did laugh this time, "why would we do that?"

"I don't know what you like," she sassed, "You have a dungeon dude."

"Point taken," Dean shrugged, "can we all calmly go back there now? I'd like to sleep sometime soon," without waiting for anyone's response he turned on his heel and stalked down the hall.

Sam and Morgan walked in silence next to each other. She noticed the pounding in her chest had stopped, fear replaced with humiliation. Despite Dean's cynicism, nothing they had done implied malicious intentions towards her, if they'd wanted to, she would already be dead. Her past experiences of mistreatment were not their fault.

"I'm sorry Sam," she glanced up and back down at her bare feet, she hadn't thought about how far she would've gotten without shoes, "I just-"

"No, Morgan," he interrupted, shaking his head, "your Mother was killed tonight, you're in a strange place with two men you don't know and I didn't even think to explain what we were walking into back there. I'm sorry," again with the irresistible puppy eyes, "We're not gonna hurt you, I promise," she nodded when he wouldn't look away, "Do you believe me?"

Staring at her bare feet again, she gave him an honest answer, "I'm trying to."

"That's all I ask," clapping a hand on her shoulder they walked back through the doorway of the storage room dungeon.

It was dark and the tile floor, uniformed throughout the bunker, was replaced with stamped concrete. Dean stood next to a table centered in the devil's trap with the red bag sitting on top, strings still secured in the same knots Morgan's Mother had tied hours ago, he hadn't opened it yet.

"Ok, ready?" Dean asked and Morgan nodded at him, the three of them standing around the table staring at the sack in hushed anticipation. Dean expertly working the knots with his fingers had the strings untied in seconds and slowly pulled open the mouth looking hesitantly inside. Confusion was obvious on Dean's face and he pushed the bag in front of Morgan, "what is this?"

Peering inside, the familiar smell of her Mother's magic filled Morgan's nostrils. A small sack of two-hundred-year-old crystals clinked as she took it out placing it on the table, next a neat stack of empty hex bags in various colors, several bundles of tiny bones, more herbs she didn't recognize (but at least her Mother had labeled the jars) and several small bottles of potions she'd concocted. Morgan noticed one was for cuts and abrasions, making a mental note to use it when she was alone. She was nearly at the bottom of the bag and nothing yet seemed out of the ordinary, for a witch. Flattening her fingers Morgan felt for anything that remained and wrapped her hand around a small, heavy object. A bullet sat with an aged scrap of paper wrapped around it, carefully Morgan unraveled the long strip leaving the bullet bare on the table. Dean picked it up, holding it in the dim light he scoffed, "this is a witch killing bullet," and handed it to Sam's waiting hand.

Cery, I had a great time and I'm glad I didn't' kill you. -John

She reread the note same as her Mother's. The paper was old and dry, seventeen years wrapped around a bullet kept in her Mother's most precious possessions. She'd never been sentimental, John Winchester must have really been something.

Feeling Sam peer over her shoulder, Morgan offered the note to him with a shaky hand, knowing she couldn't hide it now. His shocked look at her and then Dean was accompanied by jaw gaping silence as he handed the curling slip of paper to Dean.

"Is that Dad's handwriting?" Dean asked examining the note in his hands, "Holy crap."

Morgan felt them both staring at her but couldn't meet their eyes and kept her gaze fixed on the concrete. In spite of her frozen toes on the cold stone she felt heat rising up her neck to the tops of her ears, searching for anything to say, every word she could reach was wrong. Dean pinching the curled slip of paper in his fingers repeatedly glanced from the note to Morgan, confusion knitting his eyebrows together. Words were still elusive and after a few silent attempts Morgan just shrugged and returned to staring at her feet.

"What does this mean?" Dean looked at her and then Sam whose gaze was fixed on the nervous girl that wouldn't look at either of them.

"I think Morgan knows," Sam's voice was calm and Morgan finally managed to look at him. Her flushed face unable to hide the affirmation of his assumption.

"What?" Dean kept bouncing his eyes between Morgan and the paper still tight in his grip.

"I just-" Morgan nearly whispered to Sam, "I-I just found out tonight- and I didn't know what to say- I didn't think you'd believe me! I'm not even sure I believe it, I-I'm sorry," meeting Dean's stunned eyes, he seemed to be finally catching onto what Sam had already figured out, "I'm so confused and I just didn't know what to say."

"Say what?" Dean lowered his gaze at her.

Morgan opened her mouth trying to force the words out, but after another failed attempt just dug her hand in the pocket of her sweatpants and handed her Mother's note to Sam. She watched shock hit Dean like a train as he snatched the note from Sam, who was staring at her in amazement, but finally looked away to Dean whose shock seemed to be festering into anger. The knot in Morgan's stomach tightened again glancing up at Dean through her long eyelashes, again she was overcome with the urge to run. This time, however, she fought it and stood tensely waiting for the explosion.

Without a word to either of them, Dean stalked heavy footed out of the dark room and back up the hallway, taking both notes with him. Morgan let a sigh of relief escape and shuffled her bare feet awkwardly backwards trying to find an escape. Sam stood silently contemplating what had just happened, but turned just as she was reaching the entrance back into the storage area.

"I really just didn't know how to tell you," Morgan blurted out, breaking the stillness between them, "I'm sorry, I just…"

"What are you sorry for?" Sam interrupted, stuffing the bullet into his front jeans pocket.

"I-I'm," Morgan thought for a moment, not exactly sure what she was repeatedly apologizing for, "I just didn't know how to tell you."

"Why would you? I mean, you just found out tonight?" she nodded, "And you don't even believe it yet?" she shook her head, partially in disbelief of his understanding, "Then don't be sorry."

"But, Dean-" she started, but Sam put his arm around her shoulders again, pulling the frail girl into a half hug.

"Don't worry about Dean," Sam began, but stopped as Dean rounded the corner back into the room clutching an old leather journal in one hand.

"Ok," Dean flipped open to a page he'd marked with his index finger, "June 12th, 1999- Travelling to Peoria, Illinois on suspicion of witch activity. Upon arrival met with law enforcement and learned of several strange deaths from previous month, abrupt stop two weeks ago, haven't heard of another hunter in the area recently. June 14th, 1999- Met Ceralia assuming she was the guilty party, but learned she assisted another hunter in destroying the warlock that was responsible. Confirmed dead. Turned into a great weekend…" he snapped the journal shut and Morgan inhaled sharply at the sudden noise, "When were you born?" Dean's question sounded more like an accusation.

"Spring of 2000," Morgan tried to look unintimidated as she stared back at him.

"What's your birthday?" He sighed.

She shrugged and they both scrunched their foreheads at her, "I just know its springtime, like March or April, I really don't know."

Sam looked sad and Dean still clearly disgruntled, but eventually they looked at each other and Sam said, "it fits. You know Dad wouldn't write that if it hadn't been something."

Dean just nodded staring at the journal in his hands and finally up at Morgan, "You just found out tonight?"

She nodded earnestly, "My mother shoved that note in my hand right before sending me here. I read it right before I called you, but I didn't know who else to call, I don't know anyone," the last part came out quiet, but audible.

"You do now," Sam smiled encouragingly.

"So, your Mother had to have been keeping tabs on us to have that number, but how would she know where we are?" Dean pondered, but before Morgan could answer he continued, "It was a blood spell, wasn't it? What she used to teleport you?"

Morgan nodded, "It should've landed me in the same room as you two," finally revealing what she'd figured out on the drive in, "the warding around this place is powerful, so assumingly it just got me as close as it could."

"Like Henry," Dean nodded at Sam.

"Who's Henry?"

"Our Grandfather," Sam answered, "well, yours too, I guess. He… it's a long story," he smirked and shook his head.

Morgan nodded and couldn't help a sudden, very long yawn, "excuse me," the last few hours had become weeks, sleep a distant memory.

"It's bedtime, kids," Dean nodded, covering a small yawn, "Come on," and he led their sleepy parade back to rooms twenty-one, twenty-two and twenty-three.