Dean sat down on one side of the booth and Sam waited for me to sit down on the other side first, probably so I was boxed in and couldn't escape. Smart, on their part. I didn't mind being in the corner; it felt more secure. They hadn't given me my dagger back yet and I wondered where it was. I felt naked and exposed without it. The leather seats of the booth were almost as worn as the ones in their car, and the aroma of cooking food filled the air. My mouth watered and I hadn't realised how hungry I was until just then. Though, starving seemed like a more accurate term.

A waitress walked over, asking for our order and Dean order a burger and fries, Sam order some sort of salad and then they turned to me and I asked hesitantly, "Can I have a cheeseburger? And fries? And a coke?" I half expected them to say no, but they didn't. Dean just sort of seemed surprised.

The waitress walked away with the promise of returning soon with food and I thanked her, turning back to Sam and Dean. "I am so hungry."

"So, I guess Grigori eat human food?" Sam asked and I frowned.

"Yeah, of course. We essentially are human. I'm no different to you in that regard; we eat the same food, do the same stuff. If I want to lose weight, I have to exercise; I can't just magic away some fat. I am a normal human, except I'm a little stronger, little faster, a better warrior than a full human, I can sense when Demons and Exiles are around and I have the Glory. Other than that, I'm just a normal girl of twenty two years." I tell them, tracing a pattern on the table with my fingers. I looked up in time to see Dean staring at me, looking like he was trying to figure out a puzzle.

When our food returned, I started eating straight away, glad to finally have something in my stomach. The burger wasn't the best I'd ever tasted but right now, it tasted like heaven. We ate in silence and I couldn't help thinking how awkward this was, eating lunch with complete strangers. I didn't know what I should talk about, let alone whether I should talk. Would it be helping my case if I said anything? Or would Dean view it as some sort of "evil" creature distraction tactic?

When Sam finished eating, he opened his laptop and started typing away. I wondered what he was doing, but figured I didn't have the right to question him, or look at the screen, so I just ate the rest of my burger and started on my fries.

I was sipping my coke when Sam said, "Well, so much for our low profile, you've got a warrant in St Louis and now you're officially in the Feds database." My drink sprayed back into my glass and they looked at me.

"Warrant? Federal database?" I hissed at them. "Here I was, thinking you were the good guys! You hypocritical jerks, why the hell are you in the Federal database?" I said, looking around for an exit, some way to get past them. I was sitting and eating my lunch with criminals! My fingers wished for my dagger, some form of protection against them and I was half way to leaping over the table

"Relax, will you?" Dean said, glancing around, "You're attracting attention."

My eyes were wide and I stared at him, "Good. If you don't tell me what is going on in the next three seconds, I'm going to scream. And let me tell you, I have quite a set of lungs on me."

"Okay, okay, there was a bit of a misunderstanding. It happens on the job when you're impersonated by skinwalkers and what not. I didn't do anything," Dean snapped.

"Oh, and I suppose I'm just supposed to believe that?" I snapped.

"Well, now you know how we feel," Dean retorted.

"Guys, guys, you both are attracting attention. Attention we don't need," Sam said soothingly, trying to calm us. "Dean, uh, um, wait, we don't even know your name."

"Tessa. Or Tess, whichever you prefer," I said, calming down slightly and thinking properly. "What's a skin walker?" I asked, though from the name, I could guess.

"Like a shapeshifter," Sam said. "You don't know what that is?"

I shook my head, "I only know about Demons and Exiles. Shapeshifters are real?"

"Wow, then are you in for a shock," Dean muttered.

"Everything is real; shapshifters, ghosts, ghouls, witches, demons, vampires, zombies, you name it, it's probably real and we've probably dealt with it." I stare at Sam, eyes wide, Birdie used to say 'Bambi eyes', then turn to Dean who looked dead serious munching on a chip.

"Oh, my gosh." I mutter at the table, thinking it over and trying to breathe. They were serious. Everything is real. Everything is real. Every dark and horrible creature ever imagined is real. There's so many, no wonder Grigori are being assigned human protectors. We're probably dying out, there's so much bad. We were outnumbered badly even when there was just Exiles and Demons to contend with. No wonder Dean is so sceptical about me. Where is all the good to equate the evil? I place my head in my hands and try to stop the headache building. "No wonder. No wonder you don't believe me. There are so many bad creatures and only angels as the good ones. You've probably never even seen an angel and then I show up, in the middle of a whole lot of crap, and claim to be part angel. No wonder."

There was a pause and then Dean said, laughingly, "Dude, I'm like Dillinger or something."

I looked up, confused. What is a Dillinger? Sam ignored Dean's humour, admonishing him, "Dean it's not funny, it makes the job harder, we've got to be more careful now."

"What'd they have on you?" Dean asked.

Sam frowned, going back to his computer, uncertainty and petulance entering his voice, "I'm sure they just haven't posted it."

"What, no accessory? Nothing?" He asked, his lips hinting at a laugh. Slowly, my lips became a smile; his sulkiness was funny.

"Shut up," Sam said, leaning back. Wait, is he annoyed that he's not listed as a criminal?

"You're jealous," Dean said, laughing. My smile became full-blown.

"No, I'm not," Sam said, like he was crazy, but it sounded a lot like a yes to me.

"Mmmhmm," Dean said, dunking a fry in sauce and eating, grinning tauntingly at his brother. "Alright, what have you got on the case there, you innocent harmless young man, you," he mocked, drinking. I burst out laughing and Dean turned his grin on me. It made me smile as I giggled.

Sam gave him a look and slammed the lid down, picking up a piece of paper. "Architect Sean Boyden plummeted to his death from the roof of his home he designed."

"Hmm, build a high rise and jump off the top of it, that's classy," Dean said. "When did he call animal control?"

"Two days earlier," Sam told him.

"Did he actually say "Black dog"?"

"Yeah, just "wild, black dog"," Sam frowned. "The authorities couldn't find it and no one else saw it, in fact the authorities are a little confused about how a black dog could get past the doorman, take the elevator up and start roaming the halls like it's the cushiest joint in town. After that, no more calls, he doesn't show up for work, two days later he takes a swan dive."

I wince. That would have hurt so much.

"Do you think we're dealing with an actual black dog?" Dean asked, his arms resting over the back of the booth.

"Well, maybe."

"What's the lore on it?"

"Well, it's all pretty much vague, I mean there are black dogs all over the world, but some say they're animal spirits, some say they're death omens, but whatever they are, they're big, nasty-"

"Yeah, I bet they could hump the crap out of your leg, look at that one," he said, holding up a picture of a very large black dog. Sam and I just looked at him. "Huh?" he looked at us for confirmation. Sam sighed and Dean's grin dropped. "What? They could," he defended.

"Is he always like this?" I asked conspiringly at Sam.

Sam turned to me and covered his mouth with his hand, but spoke loud enough for Dean to hear, "It's a condition."

"Must be serious," I replied, holding my hand up as well.

"Oh, haha," Dean pouted, "Such comedians."

I giggled, picking up another chip and chewing. Then I frowned, "So, how does this hunting thing work? Where do you even go from here?"

"Well, we scope around, talk to the families, that kind of thing. Get a feel for what's going on," Sam said.

"Talk to the families? Seriously? Just knock on their door and say, 'I'm sorry for your loss, but I was wondering if you could tell me all about any supernatural happenings that have occurred in the events leading up to the deceased death. It'll be a big help,'" I asked sarcastically.

"Not exactly like that," Sam said.

"Are you going to teach me?" I asked.

"What?" Dean asked, a chip halfway to his mouth.

"How am I supposed to help?" confusion coloured my tone.

"Oh, no," Dean started, waving the chip around, "You're not helping us. You're going back to the hotel and you're going to wait there for us to get back."

"There are so many things wrong with that," I snapped at him.

"Like what," Dean snapped back.

"Like you just expect me to do what you tell me to do? What if I don't stay?" I retorted, folding my arms across my chest and giving him a dark look.

"Then I'll tie you up again," he replied simply.

"You can't keep tying me up!"

"Watch me," he said, in a no-nonsense voice.

"Oh, you know what?" I said, picking up a chip and throwing it at his head.

"Hey!" Dean swiped at the chip and stared at me indignantly.

"This is ridiculous! How are you going to prove that I'm a Grigori? Huh? What's that? I can't hear you. Oh, yeah, that's because you can't. It's not possible, there's no test, no way to google 'how to see if a Grigori is really a Grigori'. You can't keep taking me around with you and then tying me up when you leave the room. It's not fair." I ranted at them, more so at Dean as Sam seemed to ignoring our fight, not getting involved.

"We'll come up with something," Dean replied.

I let out a frustrated sigh, running a hand through my tangled hair and wincing when I yanked at a knot. "No you won't. I can help! I mean, I'm stronger than I look, literally, so it's not like I'm dead weight. Now that I know there's other stuff out there, you can't expect me to just go back to normal, that is, if you ever actually let me go. How can I go back to just offing Exiles and Demons when I know there's a whole nothing level of messed up out there? I can't, especially when I know they're killing people. All that pain and torture and grief, I can feel it, some Grigori have a heightened sense of empathy, so I can feel it. every time I hear something on the news, it's like a blow to the gut, it makes me physically sick. So I'll be hunting those things and who better to teach me than a pair of hunters? People who know what they're dealing with?" I quipped, staring at Dean, completely serious. If I was going to get Dean to trust me, he had to understand that I wasn't going to walk away from something this big and bad.

Dean said nothing, but Sam took the opportunity to say something, "You know, Dean that's not a bad idea. And we could always use the help." He said it cautiously, tentatively, like he didn't want to piss Dean off. Like poking a bear with a stick; poke too softly, the bear either doesn't notice or doesn't care, poke too hard and you may as well have offered

"We don't need help, Sammy," Dean snapped, though it didn't sound as wholehearted as his other retorted comments were.

"No, but it wouldn't hurt," Sam left it there, the suggestion hanging in the air, waiting for Dean either to grab it or push it away. I held my breath.

"Fine," he said, though he wasn't exactly thrilled.

"Fine," Sam said, marginally more thrilled.

"Fine," I said, nervous now that it was really happening. It would be a lot easier to learn this stuff from them when they'd actually dealt with it, then it would if I researched myself.

"But if she kills us in our sleep, it's on your head," Dean said, pointing at Sammy and moving out of the booth, signalling it was time to move. Butterflies surged in my gut.

"Okay," Sam said, serious.

I rolled my eyes, "How many times am I going to have to tell you that I'm telling the truth? I'm one of the good guys."

"We'll see," Dean said.

Dean paid for our food and we walked out, towards his awesome car. "Do you know how to handle a gun?" Dean asked.

I balked, "A gun?"

"Great, we've adopted a novice," Dean muttered to Sam.

"Hey!" I said, indignantly. "I may not know much about guns now, but I'm a fast learner and I know how to use a knife. Speaking of which, can I have it back now?"

"Okay, one, you can't always get close enough to use a knife on some of these things, two, that's time we might not have to teach you how to use a gun, and three, no," Dean told me.

I pouted at him, "Please?"

"Don't do that," he said.

"What?" I asked, surprised. "Pout?"

"Yes."

"Why on earth not?" I asked, exasperated.

"Because I very nearly gave it to you," he muttered.

"Really?" I nodded at this new development, "Interesting."

"Just don't do it."

"Are you going to tie me up again if I do?" I asked sarcastically, sliding into the back seat.

"Maybe."

"So," Sam cleared his throat, "If you two have finished your little quarrel, I was thinking we should grab your stuff from wherever it is and take it to our hotel. And you're going to need a suit if you don't already have one."

"I'm staying at the hotel in the middle of town, the one with the red flashing sign," I told them. "And I don't have a suit. Not much use for one," I shrugged.

"Okay, I'll go and get your stuff. Sam, you can go with her to get a suit. I'll drop you off and our hotel isn't far from there. Then we'll get back onto the case," Dean said. Clearly, he was used to being the one in charge and giving orders.

"What?" Sam asked, "I don't want to go shopping. Dean, you go with her, I'll get her stuff."

"No way," Dean said.

"Oh, come on," I laughed. "It's not that bad."

Sam and Dean shared a look that undoubtedly said, "Yeah, right".

"Besides, I'll have to make an ID," Dean said.

"Fine, but you owe me," Sam muttered.

Dean pulled over and I shuffled across the seat to give Dean my key, "Room 7, second floor. Door needs a good shove to open. There's a duffle bag on the bed and a smaller bag in the bathroom, and a handbag on the desk. In the handbag is my wallet, you'll have to pay for the room."

"What, there's no stuff around the room or anything?" he seemed surprised.

"Nope. I'm kind of a compulsive neat freak. Plus, I haven't been here long enough to actually unpack anything yet."

"Right."

"See ya," I closed his squeaky door and walked over to Sam on the footpath. "Lead the way, STAT."

"STAT?" Sam raised an eyebrow.

"You know, Standing Tall And Talented. Amar'e Stoudemire? Basketball? No, not ringing any bells?" I asked. He shook his head and I shrugged, "Whatever, doesn't matter."

He pushed open the door to a small shop and the smell of peppermint surrounded me. Professional slacks, shirts, blazers, ties, belts, shoes lined the walls and a little lady, about two feet shorter than me walked over, a tape measure handing over her shoulders. She craned her neck up to look at us and I felt strangely tall in comparison. That never happened to me; I was always the one who had to look up.

"What can I do for you two?" she asked, her voice a little wavery. The smell of peppermint was stronger and I realized that it must be coming from her. It was refreshing.

"Uh, my sister is going for a job interview and she wants to look professional," Sam said, easily and if I didn't know better, I would have believed him immediately.

"Oh, how nice," She said. "I remember seeing some jackets over by the mirror that look to be about your size."

"Great," I smiled, following behind her as she weaved through the racks of clothing. She grabbed one, flicking the tag and offering it to me to try on. I slipped it on and it was a perfect fit. My surprise must have shown on my face because she laughed.

"Dear, when you've been doing this for as long as I have, you start to recognize the right sizes right away," she brushed off some stray lint and guided me in front of the mirror. "Very professional."

"Not bad," I muttered, moving my arms about to check the movability. Not too restrictive that I couldn't grab a gun or knife. I smiled at my reflection.

"If you look at some blouses, I'll look for some trousers, or would you prefer skirts?" she asked.

"Uh," I started.

"One of each?" Sam said. "You know, just in case."

She trotted off and I looked at the blouses. They were pretty much all the same; just plain office shirts, but I did find one in a light shade of lilac, and one white one with lace along where the buttons met at the front. The lady came back, passing me some pants and skirts and ushering me towards the changing rooms, giving Sam the evil eye when he tried to follow me, even though as far as she knew he was my 'brother'.

When I was done, I walked back out holding one pair of pants and a skirt when something caught my eye. I paused and looked at the shelf, letting out a sigh of want. A pair of sexy black heels stood there, looking to be size and practically screaming 'buy me'. They were not too high that I wouldn't be able to walk, let alone run if it came down to it, but they were fairly high. Pursing my lips, I considered them, before dropping the clothing on the ground and trying one on. Yep; my size. Twisting and turning my ankle, I decided for them, and I picked the clothing back, walking over to where Sam and the lady were chatting easily.

I showed Sam the heels, wiggling my eyebrows and grinning. He raised his eyebrows. "Don't worry, I'll pay you back as soon as we get to my wallet. The lady rung up the items and then we were out of there, walking back towards the hotel. "Hold on," I said, pulling the heels out and placing them on the pavement. "I'll need to wear them in." Holding Sam's arm for balance, I slipped my feet into the shoes. I looked at Sam, whose neck was now at my eye level.

"I have a question," Sam said once we resumed our journey.

"Hmm?" I said, indicating his cue to talk.

"Well, don't take this the wrong way but you're kind of…small to be a warrior," he said.

I laughed, "True. But what I lack in size, I make up for in different things. I wasn't kidding when I said I was a fast learner. And I'm a pretty good strategist. Plus, sometimes being small is helpful; I mean, it's easier to duck, for one."

"Makes sense. I was trying to figure out why-"

"Why an angel would choose someone as small as me to protect people?" I asked for him.

"Uh, yeah."

"Good question. But I like to believe that everything happens for a reason, so there's a reason why."

We walked in silence all the way back to the hotel room, which was only another five minutes but it felt like forever in these shoes. The material was stiff at the edges, so it cut into my skin a little around the back of my heel but I was glad when we walked into the hotel room.

That is, until I saw Dean pointing a gun at my duffle bag.

"Dean, what's going on?" Sam asked, automatically grabbing his gun from his jeans, which I didn't even know he had, and pointing it at me duffle bag as well.

"What the hell is that?" Dean asked, completely serious as a tiny furry head with almond shaped green eyes poked its head out of the gap where the zipper wasn't closed all the way.

"Whoa," I said, holding up my hands and standing in front on the duffle bag. My kitten slid out of the bag, stretched and started purring loudly, rubbing itself against my ankles and weaving around my legs. "Were you going to shoot my cat?" I asked, outraged. "Hey, Ink," I murmured to him, picking him up. The purring increased and I gently rubbed behind his ears.

I glanced over and saw that Dean was still holding his gun at us. He raised his eyebrows, "A black cat?" he gestured at Ink with his gun.

"Yep," I said.

"Sammy, aren't black cats omens of evil?" Dean asked, in an aside to him.

"Uh-"

"Okay, first of all, it's ridiculous to judge a cat by the color of its fur. Ink, here, happens to be the sweetest thing in the world. Secondly, various traditions view black cats as good luck, some say they're bad luck. I know, that if you invite a black cat into your house in Scottish tradition, it brings good luck, or something like that. Thirdly, with so much contradiction, I've decided that it's a matter of perspective, so I choose to believe they're good luck." I said defiantly, stroking Ink's soft fur. "His name is Ink, do you want to pet him?" I asked, attempting to break the 'meaningful' stare Dean was giving Sam. I held Ink out to Dean who lent backwards when Ink hissed at him, swiping his claws. "Whoa, he doesn't like some people. It's probably because you pointed a gun at him. He doesn't appreciate it," I tell Dean pointedly.

"It's just a cat," Dean muttered.

"Aha!" I shouted, pointing at him, "If it's just a cat, what does it matter if it's black or if it belongs to me? Huh?"

Dean rolled his eyes, "Whatever."

I picked up my stuff in one hand, with difficulty, and placed it on the bed, along with Ink, who padded along to the pillow at the top and made himself comfortable.

"That's now your bed," Dean told me.

I searched around for my wallet in my handbag to pay Sam back while also giving Dean a funny look. He's just a cat. I pulled out the right amount of cash and gave it to Sam, who thanked me, very politely.

"Right," Dean clapped his hands together. "Let's get ready. You won't have any fake ID so we'll just say you're job shadowing us," he said to me. I nodded, grabbed my new clothes and shot gunned the bathroom first.

I grinned at my reflection in the mirror as I thought of Barney, from How I Met Your Mother, saying "Suit up". Suit up I will.

So, what did you think?

Be honest, even if it's just to say it sucks and I should stop.