Days passed, and you fell into a comfortable routine at the bunker. Sam would wake up early, much earlier than either you or Dean, taking a run around the forest around the bunker. You would lay snuggled next to Dean, on his memory foam mattress, content to be held in his arms until your stomach started rumbling.

Each morning you would lay there as Dean slowly moved out of bed, stretching his tight muscles as he reached for his usual black t-shirt. It was always your favorite part of the morning. Watching his shoulder muscles clench and move as the shirt slipped over his head. The way his hair stood straight up, mainly because you couldn't help but run your fingers through it the night before. He would often stand there, staring down at you with a peculiar look in his eyes.

Some mornings he would lean down, press his lips softly to yours before making his way to the kitchen where he would cook the two of you breakfast. Other times, the shirt never made it completely over his head before he was pulling you underneath him, breakfast long forgotten.

On those mornings, you would stumble into the kitchen, your hair tangled, but a smile on your lips. Sam would shake his head, before reaching over and handing you a cup of coffee without saying a word. Dean would soon join you, and the day would finally begin.

It was then you began your search for Amara. Searching everything you could get your hands on, trying to figure out where she was hiding. What she was doing, and why she hadn't come after Dean once again. Never, not even once had she tried to see him, even when he went on errands, or shopping trips. You were relieved, but you knew it was only a matter of time before she came after him. You just wanted to be ready, to stop her before things went array.

"Y/N, we've been searching for over a week now, and we've found nothing!" Dean grumbled, slamming another book closed. Picking it up, he placed it on the ever-growing pile, another dead end on how to stop Amara.

"Dean, I know you're frustrated, but we can't give up hope." You insisted, sitting down in his lap. Forcing him to look at you, you placed your hand on his cheek. "There are literally millions of people depending on us. But that's not just it. We can't let her win. I can't let her win. Because that means she will have you. And me? She'll rip me into pieces, laughing as she did so."

Grabbing your wrist, he looked you straight in the eye. "That is not going to happen." He assured you. "No matter how bad it gets, I will not give in to her. I will not let her get her hands on you. Even if I must send you far, far away. I will not let Amara kill you."

"I would rather die than be moved from your side." You whispered, cuddling tight to his chest. "I'm just confident that we will figure something out."

Sighing, he pressed his lips to yours, before reaching over and taking another book from the pile. Relieved that you had calmed him down a little, you left his lap, taking a book with you to your favorite little arm chair in the corner.

Time passed, as the two of you stayed silent. Sam came into the library, his laptop in his hands, sitting down across from his brother. Giving each other a glance, they got back to work.

With your eyes almost crossing from too much reading, you were about ready to stand up for a break when Dean slammed his hand on the table, exclaiming in delight. "I think I've found something!"

It was the perfect opportunity for a break, and you stood up, making your way towards him. With one hand still on the book, Dean wrapped his other arm around your waist, pulling you tight to him. "It's an old men of letters book. Talking about powerful objects, including the hand of God."

"Hand of God?" You repeated as Sam slammed his computer shut, giving Dean his full attention.

"It's an item that God has touched, giving it a great deal of power. But it's only good for one use." Sam explained, of course knowing exactly what you were talking about. "But do we think it's strong enough to defeat her?"

"It's our only shot, isn't it?" Dean shot back, as you stood there, sitting quietly.

"How are we even going to get our hands on such an item?" You thought out loud, not missing the frown that flittered onto Dean's face. "They have to be very rare."

"I know where." Dean answered, pointing to the book in front of him. "The last known place one had been seen is on this submarine."

Leaning over, you read the description in the book, getting more confused by the second. "Dean, that sub went down a long time ago. How do you expect us to find the wreckage, let alone the hand of god?"

"Cas!" Dean bellowed. "We need your help!"

"Dean, I don't think that's going to wo..." Sam started to argue, but you heard the slamming of the huge iron door, before Cas' long trench coat was visible on the main staircase.

"What is it Dean?" Cas asked as he came down the stairs. Staring at him, you tried to figure out what was different with the Angel. Something seemed off, but you couldn't quite put your finger on it. His hair seemed messy and unkempt. His trench coat still unbuttoned showing off the backwards tie and the suit underneath.

"Cas, I need you to send me back in time." Dean ordered, earning a scoff from Sam.

"Dean, Cas' powers are limited. There's no way he can send you back in time." Sam started arguing, but Cas held his hand up, stopping Sam.

"I think I'll be able to. I've had a chance to recover a little bit, and this hand of god is a wonderful idea." Cas answered, something about him still confusing you. "I will transport the two of us back in time, where we can retrieve this valuable item."