Acquainting himself with his new reality was… jarring. It took time. Sam spent most of his days with Simon and Clary and his nights with Luke at the local bar that his pack met at. The others, the rest of the pack that is, did make things easier however. The Hunter's Moon, the aforementioned bar, had quickly become one of Sam's favorite hangouts. For their part, the New York pack had fully embraced their newest member and, to the last wolf, they were all quite fond of him.

This was where Sam found himself the evening before school started again, sitting at a bar and talking to Bat Velasquez. "So, classes start tomorrow then?" Bat asked, taking a sip of his drink. "Excited?"

"I mean, I guess?" Sam shrugged, resting his chin on the bar. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, as though he was forgetting something vital, but he couldn't figure it out. In truth, all of Sam's memories from his original world were gone now. He knew he had a brother named Dean, but that was the extent of things. Everything before the night he had been found in the woods was gone now, a dark abyss in which nothing existed. "I don't know, it just doesn't seem right. A werewolf going to normal school?"

"You can't think like that," Bat said, rolling his eyes. "If you start thinking as yourself as only a werewolf you are going to lose your grip on the part of you that is human."

"Do I still have one?" Sam said, snorting. "Last I checked Simon and Clary weren't running around with a built in fur coat on full moons."

"Guess they aren't as lucky as you," Bat grinned at him. "Come on, Sam, you are still a kid. You might be a little more than that, but that's not all you are. There are other kids in the pack too, just look at Maya. She's barely eighteen and doing just fine for herself."

"I guess," Sam shrugged one shoulder. "I don't know, I really don't."

"Alright, I'm going to put my serious face on for once." Bat said, setting down his drink and turning to face Sam. "Sam, you know that I DJ right?"

"Yeah, of course," he nodded, looking Bat in the eyes now.

"Tell me, how many of the other guys in the pack do you know of who have a job that is entirely removed from the pack? The Downworlder environment?"

Sam thought about this and then shrugged again. "I don't know, maybe Luke?"

"Exactly, kid, and that is exactly what I am saying," Bat said emphatically, lightly slamming his fist on the bar and making his glass jump. "Everyone here is either so obsessed with being a werewolf or so obsessed with feeling sorry for themselves. They forget what it is like to just live. Yeah, we're a pack. I have everyone's back, there's no question about that. But I believe in helping yourself as well, and a lot of people don't have that initiative. You are one of the few that still do. Your situation, if you don't mind me saying, is completely fucked. Your brother and you, both killed, and you have no family because you were both presumed dead. There's no going back from that, especially since the Clave would put you down in a heartbeat. But you have a chance for a new life because of that. So don't get all hung up on the werewolf thing Sam. Embrace it, yeah, but embrace the part of you that is still human."

Bat finished his drink and rose from his seat, leaving Sam to contemplate his words. His phone buzzed in his pocket and he pulled it from his pocket, seeing a text from Clary flashing on the screen.

Hey, what are you doing?

Not much. Just getting ready for school tomorrow, I guess. Hbu?

Putting it off as long as possible. Want to hang out?

Sure, where at?

My house? Luke's over which means we have way too much food.

Sam's stomach rumbled at that precise moment and he checked the time. It was a few minutes past ten and he blinked. Where had the day gone? It's kinda late isn't it?

That is a matter of perspective.

Sam had to smile at this. At the insistence of Simon the three of them had binged the entire Pirates of the Caribbean series in a single weekend. Simon had, under his breath, recited almost every line of the movie with inflection included. Thus they had begun quoting the movie at every opportunity if only to give him a hard time. Alright, sure, as long as Luke doesn't mind.

He said its fine.

Sam thought it over one last time and then thought back to what Bat had told him. Having dinner before a school night with a friend was pretty much as normal as it got, right? A minute later Sam was out of the bar and lightly jogging towards Clary's address with his book bag over his shoulder. He would probably crash on Luke's couch again after he left Clary's house so it made sense to have his stuff ready for the next day.

On the West Coast, Dean Winchester was having a much different evening. Scattered before him was the bodies of several humans who he had just fed upon. Blood ran down his chin and dripped onto the ground and his shirt. The Mark of Cain was positively thrumming with power, sated with the killing. "Good work," Valentine said, running one of the humans through with an ancient looking sword. With each chest that it pierced it, briefly, grew bright and then faded once more. Valentine had not deemed to tell him what the sword's purpose was, only that it was vital to his plans. In fact Valentine had been almost entirely close-lipped about his plans.

Their relationship, if you could call it that, was entirely centered on what was mutually beneficial to them both. Whenever Valentine needed blood to spill he would ask Dean. At first Dean had been wary of this, uncertain if Valentine was to be trusted to any extent, but he had hesitantly gone along with the bloodshed. The Mark of Cain, after all, required sacrifices. Humans were easy prey for him and their deaths satisfied every thirst he had. Valentine, as well, was satisfied with their destruction as their lives fed that sword. Dean had once asked about the blade but Valentine had simply shook his head.

"How many more do you think you need?" Dean asked, nudging one body with his foot.

"It is difficult to say," Valentine answered in his silky smooth baritone. "Perhaps one hundred more? Perhaps two hundred? It is difficult to say. Humans, as offerings, are next to worthless. Their souls have very little magical value and this sword feasts upon the magic."

"What would be a better option?" Dean asked, already guessing where better souls could be found.

"Shadowhunters, in all honesty, would be the most ideal prey," Valentine answered, confirming Dean's suspicions. "The two that we slew the day we met were worth more than the dozens of humans we have killed. Several times over in fact. The only thing that makes hunting these vermin worthwhile is that they are so numerous whereas Shadowhunters…"

"Shadowhunters are not." Dean confirmed, nodding in understanding. He ripped off a piece of one of the dead's shirts and used it to clean the blood from his face and hands. "What is the next best option?"

"Downworlders would be next. Preferably witches and warlocks." Valentine said slowly, turning to face Dean. "Are you suggesting that we change our prey?"

"You said that sword can help us find Sam, right?" Dean asked simply.

"It can, and so much more," Valentine nodded, tapping the hilt fondly. "This sword has more power than anyone could know. Save for me."

"I'll take your word for it." Dean said, waving a hand dismissively. Whatever Valentine's plans were, he didn't really care. Saving and finding Sammy, that was his only goal. Perhaps it was the influence of the Mark of Cain, but every life that he took in order to reach this goal seemed to pale in comparison to Sam's. "How many Downworlders do you think I need to kill to get that sword up and running?"

"It is difficult to accurately say… perhaps twenty?" Valentine mused, his eyes distant now. "If we were to fully charge it, I would say that we would need blood from every race of Downworlder."

"Then I'll get it for you," Dean said, starting down the alleyway and then glancing up at the sky. He had, at best, an hour left before the sun forced him to hide.

"Dean," Valentine called, "Before you undertake this reckoning you must know that I cannot assist you. The world must not know that I yet live. If they were to discover that it would undo years of planning and make finding our goals that much harder. You will be alone in this."

"Not like I haven't done things alone before," Dean said. Vague memories of his past were there but, like Sam, they had almost completely faded. All he had been left with was an obsessive desire to find and save his baby brother. "This won't be any different from killing anything else."

"I'm afraid that it will be," Valentine warned. "Downworlders are used to fighting for survival. They are not cattle to be slaughtered like humans are. They will fight you."

Dean smiled at this, a smile devoid of humor. He reached to the small of his back and pulled free two seraph blades from criss-crossed sheaths he had taken from a dead shadow hunter. "Will these do the trick?"

Valentine looked at the softly glowing blades in Dean's hands and then nodded. "They will do the job," he said gravely. "Remember, Dean, you may very well be the only Downworlder who can even touch them much less wield them. Do you remember what I told you?"

"To use them properly I will need to give them names before I fight." Dean nodded. "Don't worry, I already have two names picked out."