Sam had been obsessing over the files and documents he came across in the bunker for days at an end. He was totally geeking out to his heart's content. They'd been there for a while now, getting used to the comforts and many perks of the bunker. Men of Letters was one wonderful, glorious 'club' and their hideout was badass. They were both starting to understand what Henry Winchester – his grandfather – had said and why he had felt so regretful of the fact that he hadn't been able to initiate John and eventually Sam and Dean officially to the organization as the legacies they were truly meant to be.

Dean was no different from Sam. He just couldn't get enough of the Samurai swords and all the other weaponry carefully collected and gloriously displayed throughout the bunker. The journal by Samuel Colt was the best find so far. That was what he had been rifling through when Sam had barged into his room.

"Ever heard of knocking?" Dean sat up, barking at his brother.

"Why? Were you jerking off?" Sam threw back at him with a smug smirk on his face.

Dean rolled his eyes. "I could have been. Jerk."

"Bitch," Sam laughed. "So anyway get this. There just might be another legacy. Someone other than us."

This made Dean bolt right up. "You mean another descendent of an original member of the Men of Letters? I bet he's one badass hunter!"

"She, you mean…" Sam corrected. "No hunter activity as far as I can tell. She's an artist, actually."

"An artist, huh? How'd you even come by this information?"

Sam shrugged sheepishly. "I research? A lot," he said simply, not wanting to go into detail about how he had spent hours getting to know the past members. It had been purely by accident, and with a little help from the internet that he'd come across Sara Williams.

"Geek," Dean taunted, but Sam only laughed at that. "So what are you saying? Are we going to drag that poor girl into the bunker and this life too?" Sam stared at his brother without a word since that had been exactly what he had planned. "Bad idea, Sammy! Dude, what the hell!"

"She's a legacy, Dean," Sam said in exasperation. "She has a right to know, and as the only surviving members of the Men of Letters, it is our responsibility to initiate her. Beyond that, she can choose whether to stay or go."

Dean shook his head. Sam was getting way too into the whole Men of Letters thing. If he didn't know any better, Dean would have thought Sam had been in the institution pretty much all his life. He was acting like a true member – an insufferable know-it-all. "So what's your plan?"

"Grab the keys," Sam said grinning way too giddily for a 31 year old grown man. "We are going to an art exhibition."

Sara had led a pretty simple life. Her parents had died when she had been sixteen, and she had taken care of herself ever since then. It hadn't been easy but she had managed just fine. She was twenty two now and she had established herself as quite a well known artist. The pay wasn't great but it was a way of expression for her abundant energy and creativity. All in all, she had done quite well for herself.

So when two weirdly attractive men had shown up to her exhibition with an even weirder tale about some secret organization she should have called them crazy – because that was surely what they were – and told them to go to hell. Except, her curiosity had gotten the best of her.

And that was how she found herself in a hole of a bunker somewhere in Kansas with Sam and Dean Winchester.

When they had told her of demons, werewolves, vampires, ghouls and ghosts, she probably should have run the other way. When they told her that they hunted all those things for a living, she should have called the cops or something. But she had a feeling she couldn't just shake off. The tales they told, she felt like she had known deep down for them to all be true. She couldn't understand why or how but she knew. She just knew.

Their first hunt together had proven how right they had been. It was nothing major – just a simple 'salt and burn' ghost case as they said, and that was probably why they even let her tag along in the first place. Seeing that flickering visage of a now dead human had made a believer out of her.

They'd let her in on the researching part of it, and her ability to read with twice the speed as an average person came in quite handy. "It's like you're just scanning a book and downloading its content," Sam had said completely impressed, unable to hide his awe. "Just check this out, Dean! She's a total natural at this…definitely a Men of Letters legacy." Dean had only grunted in response from where he sat.

Dean Winchester, the older of the two very attractive 'hunters' and her mentors. When Sam went out of his way to make her feel comfortable and welcome in what was supposed to be her new home and new life, Dean made it his life's mission to skeptically stare at her as if her presence was the vilest thing in his vicinity.

She hadn't understood his dislike of her until one day she had overheard him say to Sam, "She's too young, Sammy! A little suburban artist for god's sake! She might be good with her paint brushes but she sure as hell doesn't know how to shoot a gun or basically just not get killed. She's a liability!" She had only known them for a little while but still the words hurt like knives in her heart. He didn't even know her damn it! He knew nothing about her. Nothing.

Ever since then, she had done her best to keep her distance from him. He left her to her own devices, meaning research, research and more research. She tended to ignore him and his rude staring whenever she could.

Not today though. Today she had a bone to pick with the arrogant asshat.

She burst into his room right behind him. "Dean! Don't you dare walk away from me when I'm talking to you!"

"What?" He turned back to her with his bitch-face on.

His glare wasn't going to faze her. She knew what she wanted and she was going to get it one way or the other! "I am going on this hunt. I've trained, done my research, learnt everything I could from Sam," she listed holding up her hand and folding a finger with each item on the list. "Sam thinks I'm ready. I think I'm ready. So what gives, damn it?"

He folded his hands and looked down at her with and intimidating stare. Sara held her ground. "I don't think you're ready. End of story," he declared and turned around to switch on his music player.

Led Zeppelin started playing. Usually, Sara would lean back and enjoy Dean's music from her own room. She liked his taste. Today she reached out and shut the player off. "Not end of story!" Folding her hands in front of her chest, she glared daggers at his back.

He turned back around to face her with a look of utter disgust on his face. "Seriously, kid? Are you going to throw a tantrum about this?" There he goes again, stressing on the 'kid' and throwing her age around as if it was an epithet. Yes, fine, she is twenty-two and thirteen years younger but she was not an infant, even though at times that's exactly what he made her sound like.

"This is not a tantrum," she said lowering her voice and trying to appear calmer than she actually was. "What I am trying to do is have a discussion with you. Can we discuss this like adults, please?"

He scoffed in disdain. "Adults? Fine. I'm telling you in a very adult-like manner to your very adult-like self that you are just not going on this hunt. End of discussion, capisce?"

She rolled his eyes. "Who's the kid now, Dean?" She stepped closer, invading his personal space. She knew he hated it, for she'd seen him berate Cas for the same thing.

As they stared at each other, her eyes narrowed in determination, and his observing her warily, she couldn't resist noticing how good he smelled – all leather, whiskey and man. It didn't help that she was incredibly attracted to him, down to the little crow's feet around his eyes and the prickly stubble on his cheek that she itched to rub her face against. Still, Dean Winchester was an insufferable moron and she just hated him sometimes!

She was up in his face, all but spitting fire with her eyes. Dean wanted nothing more than to wipe that smirk off her pouting lips – preferably with his own. Sometimes she pushed him so far that all he wanted was to push her against the nearest hard surface and show her who was in control. She was just a baby – a gorgeously attractive, fiery, twenty-year old baby that drove him crazy in more ways than one.

"Why don't you test me, Winchester?" she hissed, and for a moment he thought she was reading his wayward thoughts about her. Then he realized that she meant about their argument. "Why don't you test me and see if I'm ready or not?" To him, the taunt held so much innuendo and he knew she was saying it without realizing what it did to him.

He thought about her suggestion. He hadn't been part of Sam's training sessions with her so he didn't know how far she had progressed but the suggestion was enticing. He would love to put Baby Face in her little rightful place – back in the bunker, doing her research. He was all for equal rights and all but she was new to this still, and he wasn't going to be the reason why she got killed. And he sure as hell wasn't going to let her be the reason why they end up dead or worse.

"Fine. I'll test you," he said, smirking right back at her. "Get out of these stuffy clothes," he instructed making her eyes widen with surprise and sending a pool of heat to her core. "And meet me at the gym," he continued with the smirk still plastered across his face. "Let's see what you got, Baby Face."