It was not altogether hard to find the motel room the demons had been staying in. Meg called it talent, Sam just looked at her and told her that he was the one that had smelled the sulphur.

Meg had just flipped him off and waltzed right into the room, the lock coming undone with a snap of her fingers.

Sam sighed and followed her inside, and stopped dead, mouth hanging open, gazing at the walls.

"I know. Impressive stuff, right?" Meg remarked, waving her demon knife at the papers adorning the walls. There was not a square inch of free space anywhere, with maps, printed posters, and tacks stuck in various things with thread connecting them all weaved across the higher portion of the room like a spider web. "This is why demons are better hunters than Hunters themselves," she said, "because we research awesomely."

"What do you mean?" Sam asked. "We research awesomely as well. How do you think we hunt?"

"Don't bother, Sammy—could you really string all that up there?"

"Well, no," he said slowly, "but how do you? How do you reach that stuff without a ladder?"

Meg disappeared and reappeared perched on the ceiling—somehow (Sam wasn't quite sure all the laws of physics were still intact with that move, especially those of gravity)—flipping through all the overlapping papers and running her fingers through the string to see where they connected. She tore off a paper and tossed it down to Sam. He caught the fluttering page.

"A map of Wyoming? What's this for?"

"It's the Devil's Gate Daddy tried to open up oh-so-long ago. Recognize it? That's where Dean shot him dead."

"And why do you have a picture of it?" Sam asked hesitantly. "It's locked up. Can't be opened except by the Colt—which is locked up as well. They're not going to get the Colt. So why would they want to focus on this?"

"Sammy," Meg sighed, running her fingers along the strings as if searching for something, "you'd think Sammy the first would make a Devil's Trap of sorts with his name branded on it and then make the key the other huge invention and A-bomb to demonkind? Really?"

"Well, that's what we did last time, with Jake and all…"

"Sammy." Meg stopped him, tearing off a piece of paper off of the wall. "It's not about the item itself, it's about it's power against demons. The Colt could kill anything, including demons. The only other thing with that much power is…" She let go of the piece of paper and it fluttered down into Sam's grasp.

He looked at it and blanched. "Ruby's knife," he muttered.

Meg flashed said knife in the air as he looked back up to her from the rough sketch of it. "But that would mean that's why they're after you…not because Crowley wants you dead, but because they need it to unleash…what, exactly?"

The Roses, she thought, but pursed her lips and shrugged as if she didn't know. Which she didn't, not really. "Something in Hell, something unable to come out otherwise. Beats me. But whatever it is, well, we don't want it coming out, not if it's too large to come out of any other door."

"Wait. Can't they just make another demon-killing knife?" Sam asked, brow scrunched up in confusion.

Meg snorted. "Even if they could, they wouldn't. A blade that could kill them eternally if someone else got their hands on it? They can't, anyways. Demons don't just have souls they can bind to anything. Demons don't have souls."

"But Ruby did," Sam said slowly. "Or else it wouldn't be her knife."

"Oh yes," Meg smiled, and shook the knife slowly, "and I can still feel it in here. She's angry, Sam. She's always angry. A few demons…well, the 'special cases' do. Trust me, you don't want to face any 'special cases'. Most of them are under lock and key right next to the Cage with no way for anyone to get to them or to do anything to them. So basically, this is the only thing in the universe that they need to suddenly release into the world. That's surprising as well." She hopped onto the ground, dusting herself off automatically. "They need to release them now, why now? Why didn't they grab the knife from Ruby before, when they had her? There was ample time they could have snagged it. They didn't, so it has been a rather recent development. A rather recent, very large development? Most things like that take several hundred years to gather energy except…"

Except for a few exceptions…

Flash. Running, trying not to trip on the stones or have the living vines wrap around her legs. Slashing at everything that was in her way. Screaming bloody murder, trying to get away, her hair in her face, not daring to turn around in fear that she would lose the only seconds she had left.

"What did you blow up!" demanded M'aren from her far left.

"I didn't!" exclaimed Meg. "I just…"

She was interrupted by a roar, and something akin to a fireball flew over her head and they both ducked and scrambled behind a tree, resting for a second.

M'aren looked at Meg. "Well, whatever you did," she said testily, "you managed to get a dragon on our tails. A dragon with a taste for demon."

"Why are you running too if it's only demon it has a taste for?" Meg asked.

M'aren was silent, peering behind the tree. "Because the Roses will have my hide if they know what I've done. RUN!"

"Meg? Meg? Are you okay?" Sam was shaking her slightly, peering into her slightly vacant eyes.

"Wha?" Meg scrambled to attention, gripping his forearms so hard her knuckles turned white. She cast a quick glance around and sighed briefly. The memory was nothing but a memory, and it was over. "I'm okay, I'm okay."

"What happened? You were talking and then it was like you were having a vision. You were keeled over and everything, shouting something about…was it Arwen?"

"Not a vision," Meg said, sheathing her knife and distancing herself from the Winchester. "Memory."

She brushed past him and opened up the door.

"Well, did it have anything to do with what we were saying?"

Meg turned around, shaking her head slightly. "No. Just…rough times."

"Do we need anything from this room or did we achieve what we came for?"

Meg nodded absentmindedly. "Yeah. Just like set it all on fire—not good luck to stay anywhere near where a demon made it's perch, ya know. I can smell hoodoo underneath the carpets."

"Wait, you want me to set the motel on fire?" Sam asked again. Cute, rather slow Sammy.

Meg rolled her eyes. "I'll go bust the fire alarms, duh. Wait about five minutes before doing it and I'll meet you by the Impala with our stuff, yeah?"

She left and Sam blinked, rather confused. Five minutes to wait until the motel completely burnt down…why was Meg such in a hurry to destroy the evidence of this place?

Maybe, something inside him said, there's something here she doesn't want you to find.

Sam had five minutes, a bit less, so if he wanted to find anything out he needed to hurry. He began to scour the walls, tearing off paper and ripping down string and bits of Blu-Tak, looking for anything to do with Meg. And then he found it.

It was a small folder on top of the drawers, actually, and it was a folder of papers, articles, emails, and handwritten notes labelled Azazeldaughter.

Did she not have a name before 'Meg'? Sam thought, smiling grimly. He flipped through it, only catching that it mentioned Crowley many times and had pictures in grimy black-and-white of other people—meat suits of demons or people?

He didn't have time for this. He tucked it in his jeans and got to work destroying the rest of the evidence.

He met up with Meg a few minutes later as the motel was in flames, a crowd of people outside of it, the manager on his phone yelling to someone, probably about the sprinklers not working and the fire extinguishers all missing.

The Impala's trunk door was a bit hard to close, Meg told him cheekily.

Sam smiled back, and then his phone began to ring. It was Amelia. He answered it. "Hello?"

"Oh my god, Sam, the fire truck is racing down our street. Everyone says that it's your motel, are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm fine," Sam smiled grimly. "Barely got back when it started. Recovered most of my stuff, actually."

"That's amazing, thank God," Amelia said and he heard the smile in her voice. "Is your friend, Meg, okay as well?"

Sam cast a sidelong glance at Meg, who was leaning against the Impala and gazing at the fire enveloping the motel with an expression akin to pride on her face. "W-well," Sam said, a bit disturbed. Demon, he reminded himself. They enjoyed burning. Or maybe it was just Azazel's family.

"That's double amazing," Amelia gushed, joy and relief in her voice. "Tell Meg hi for me, and that you're both incredibly lucky to get out alive. After my grandfather…well…"

"Well, what?" Sam asked in the concerned, soft and caring voice of his.

"Well, a few years ago he died in a house fire."

"I'm sorry," Sam said after a beat. "I suppose I'm extremely lucky to survive another 'house fire' because I'm part of the family, am I right?"

"Well…" Sam could hear the blush in Amelia's voice at being called 'part of the family'. Meg couldn't guess what they were talking about but smiled a bit—a genuine smile—at the 'part of the family' comment as well. Sam could almost hear her telepathic drawl, "Takin' big bold steps, aren't you, Sammy?"

"Yes, I suppose so," Amelia finally said. "Look, I have to go. You'll have enough to deal with with the fire truck and all. Good luck!"

"You too," Sam said, and hung up.

Meg just looked at him.

"Oh, shut up," he growled, and went around and opened up the driver's door in the Impala. "You getting in or what?"

"What?" Meg said.

"You've packed our stuff, right?" With Meg's nod, he continued. "So come on and let's get the hell out of here before the cops get involved."

"Where are we going?" Meg asked as she climbed into shotgun.

"I dunno, maybe the Motel 8 where Amelia's staying. It would be a nice surprise to her," Sam said.

Meg cracked a grin. "Does that mean that I finally get the room to myself?"

"Oh, shut up," he said playfully as he drove off.