"Have you heard of Abaddon?" Sam asked.
"Abaddon? As in the Ex Knight of Hell, Abaddon?"
You remembered hearing things about her years ago. A few hunter friends you were working a case with seemed to have an obsession with all things Demon. They talked almost nonstop about Hell and all of the Demons. You mostly stayed silent, almost appreciative to be able to learn about the wicked things. You hunted monsters. Not Demons. As a lone hunter, that would be a suicide mission.
"I'll take that as a yes," Dean replied. "She's back and we need Crowley so we can learn what we can to take down this bitch."
"Again," Sam added.
"Wait, what do you mean again?" If there was a demon powerful enough to come back after being killed once, it wasn't a demon you wanted to mess with. Other than your deal with Crowley, demons were the types of monsters you avoided. Small hunts were slightly safer and so those were the ones you pursued, leaving the more dangerous hunts to people like the Winchesters who could take it.
"We killed her once, but she wasn't really dead. We needed a test subject, so we reassembled her."
Your gaze was filled with disbelief. It surely wasn't your place to judge people you didn't know very well, but reassembling a Knight of Hell sounds insanely stupid.
"Why did you do that?" you couldn't help but ask.
"We found a cure for demons. We thought it would be less dangerous to reassemble Abaddon than to find some trouble and trap one," Dean jumped back in.
"Can't you just do it again? Kill her, I mean."
"I don't know," Sam shook his head and his long locks shifted over his eyes. He ran his hand through the mess to get it out of his face.
Dean noticed you watching Sam and his hair and said, "Don't mind Rapunzel over there." Sam glared at Dean who stood up and began plating the pancakes that had surely lost their warmth. "We'll figure something out. Do you like butter on your pancakes?" He shifted the conversation so abruptly it was almost smooth. The way they talked about Abaddon was like someone talking about a minor pest. The realization that these boys had more than likely gone through much worse than Abaddon hit you hard.
"Y/N," Dean said sternly, pulling you from the thoughts in your mind.
"Sorry, yes. I do like butter." Everything with Abaddon had you reeling and not quite ready to leave the conversation. "So what does all of this with Abaddon have to do with my deal?"
"Crowley's the King of Hell," Dean answered. "And Abaddon is trying to take his position."
"Wait," you stopped him. "King of Hell? I thought he was a Crossroads Demon."
The green eyed man only shrugged. "My guess is that Crowley got a little bored and did some...overtime."
You scoffed. Bored? He's the King of Hell. How could he get bored?
"Abaddon must have sent the hounds after you, hoping that the more deals that went south, the more loyalties would shift," Sam said. "But enough about her. Let's just enjoy some breakfast."
Sam slid a plastic bag down the table. It stopped almost perfectly in front of you. Before you had a chance to say your thanks, Dean was putting plates down on the table full of pancakes. Sam nodded, giving you the okay to open it. Inside was a shirt, jeans, and some socks.
"Thanks, to the both of you."
"No problem," Sam said, stabbing down into his pile of pancakes. "It's kind of a relief to hear you're a hunter."
"Yeah," Dean scoffed with a slight smile as he placed himself in the seat next to you. "Usually we have to convince people we aren't crazy after dealing with things like Hellhounds."
"So what is this place?" you asked, finally taking a bite of the fluffy pancakes. You moaned at how good they were. Sure, they weren't warm anymore, but wow...that Dean guy could really cook. "These are amazing." The words came out muffled by the amount of pancake filling your mouth.
Sam shook his head and laughed. "Remind you of anyone?" he asked Dean, gesturing towards you with his fork.
"Shut up," Dean answered with an equally full mouth. He swallowed and it wasn't hard to follow the lump on his neck as he did. "But before Sammy interrupted your question," he continued, "this is a place for the Men of Letters."
His smile deepened in pride of his home. He must have noticed your stare because he looked right in to your e/c eyes and it caused a blush to form under your cheeks. The speed of your heart seemed to pick up a few paces.
Speak you idiot, you told yourself.
"Why not just People of Letters," you asked. "Why does it have to be specifically men?" The brothers shared a look.
You weren't necessarily into the whole feminist movement, but it always irked you when other hunters thought females incapable. Just because the genetic makeup is different, doesn't make one gender more qualified to hunt than the other.
"Do you know Charlie Bradbury?" Sam asked.
"Who?" you answered in reply.
"Never mind."
"What are the Men of Letters, exactly?" you pushed.
"I know we promised you more answers," Sam said, "but let's take things slow with the info dump." His look told you that he was trying to be considerate and not overwhelm you with all of the new knowledge. Though knowing more seemed important, it was also a relief not to need every but of information in that very moment.
At that point, all of the pancakes were gone and Dean stuck Sam on dish duty, claiming that, "the cook gets off free" or something like that. While the two bickered about the dishes, you slipped away into Dean's room, the rustling bag full of clothes in hand.
It was more than a small relief to be out of Dean's large shirt and robe and into something more normal. The ensemble Sam chose for you consisted of a pair of dark jeans and a maroon shirt, and, embarrassingly enough, a matching set of panties and a bra that seemed like would fit you near perfect It was all fairly plain, but yet somehow sophisticated. It had been so long since you had on nice clothes. Your wardrobe consisted of many second hand items and t-shirts. Appearance didn't much matter as a hunter.
A knock at the door startled you as you finished the final fold of the shirt you had worn. Sam's voice sounded through the thick wood. "Y/N, you in here?"
"Yeah, just a minute," you called out, slipping on the moccasin slippers that were also in the bag of clothes. Walking out of the room, you looked to Sam and started thanking him.
"It was really no problem."
"You don't understand how much I appreciate what you have both done for me, but I need to head back to where I was staying and finish my hunt."
"I'll drive you," Sam offered.
You bit your lip, hating to cause him to go out of his way anymore than he already had. Besides, being on your own was something that was normal. It didn't make much sense for Sam to drive you to the house.
"No thanks," you responded. "It's not far from here."
"Y/N," Sam cocked his head to the side and looked down on you with a look that seemed to be chastising you for being so stubborn and independent.
"Sam," you said in the exact tone he had just used. "It's really no big deal."
"I know. That's why I'm driving you. C'mon." He waved his arm and turned his back on you, closing the discussion. The tall man walked briskly and it was hard to keep up with his large strides. In a short time, he led you through a door and you were greeted by some cars. The one that specifically caught your eye was one of the old cars, an Impala if you had to guess. There was a newer Charger that seemed out of place next to some classics. The Impala and Charger were both black and in impeccable condition. The Impala seemed to be calling to you and you walked over to it, inspecting it.
"This an Impala?" you questioned, hoping you were right so you didn't sound foolish.
"1967, yeah. It's my brother's." Sam strode over to the Charger and climbed into the driver's seat.
"What a shame," you mumbled, climbing into the passenger seat beside Sam. The Impala seemed more fun to ride in than an average Dodge.
"So where is this place at?"
You directed Sam along the road to the abandoned home. He pulled up beside your red Jeep.
"You were staying here?" he questioned in disbelief.
Your shoulders lifted and fell in response. Sure, it wasn't much, but it did the job and made you less likely to be caught for identity theft.
Sam followed you through the thick weeds that filled the property and surrounded the house. The house was rather old, with shattered windows and a caving in roof. It looked less than inviting, but the inside wasn't as bad as the outside made it seem. Yes, there was a perpetual dampness that followed you everywhere inside the house, but it didn't bother you.
You walked through the front door and Sam had to duck to avoid hitting his head on the sagging door frame.
"Welcome to my humble abode for the span of this hunt."
Sam scanned his eyes over your possessions sprawled across the cracked wood flooring. Some of your weapons were scattered about since you were cleaning them, trying to prepare for the Hellhounds you heard approaching. Many papers from your hours of research were torn and ruined thanks to Crowley's or Abaddon's or whoever's mutts ruined your evening.
"Listen," Sam started, rubbing his hand on the back of his neck. "I know you're probably used to working on your own, but why don't you stay at the bunker?"
You eyed him, not sure if he was being genuine, joking, or luring you into a trap. "Why would you want me at the bunker? I nearly killed your demon toy."
"First off, this is no place to be staying. You'll probably end up with some serious lung infection if you stay here. Second, hunting alone is a dangerous game."
"I've been doing it for years," you responded, starting to organize the mess in the main living space of the creepy house.
"At least until you finish this hunt. At the end, you can decide to stay or leave. Deal?"
The giant looked at you with the biggest puppy dog eyes you had ever seen. Somehow, the face he made stole the word 'no' out of your vocabulary and locked it far away so that the only thing you could say was, "Sure."
Trees blurred past as both Sam and you sat in silence on the way to the bunker. The silence wasn't uncomfortable. In fact, you were glad to not have to engage in conversation with Sam. The past day and a half had you reeling. After all, it was just one day ago that you were on a typical hunt. Now, here you were, foolishly accepting the invite to live in the bunker of two strange men.
At least they're hunters, you reminded yourself.
And it was true. The thought put you at ease. Things would have been a lot worse if the two hunter boys hadn't shown up to your rescue.
"So what were you hunting?" Sam finally broke the silence and looked at you from the corner of his hazel eyes.
"I'm not actually positive," you answered truthfully. "People are dying and I don't know how."
"No offense, but why work a case you have no clue about?"
You shook your head, locks of hair falling in front of your eyes. "It's...complicated. I'll explain back at the bunker, if that's okay."
Sam nodded his head and the two of you rode therest of the way back to the bunker in silence.