Dying is indescribable, especially if you've done it multiple times. If you asked the Winchesters what it was like to die, they'd ask, "Which time?" and when you'd say, "Every time," they'd tell you how different each one was. Libby had only truly died once and it was absolute agony. She knew that it wasn't as bad as the future that Chuck had shown her, but it came close to it.

She awoke with a gasp, her eyes flying open. Libby went to sit up, only to be shoved back down by a flat surface above her head. She groaned, her hand unconsciously going up to her forehead and rubbing it in hope that the pain would retreat. It was still there, much to her dismay. It was pitch black, too dark for even Libby to make out anything around her. She could tell that she was in a small box but that was about it. The redhead opened her mouth to call out but nothing came out, her throat dry and itchy as if she hadn't drank anything in weeks.

Suddenly a sharp pain shot through her whole body, the pain being the strongest in her head. Libby cried out, clutching her head as the memories of the third Trial flooded her mind, but there was something missing from them. Someone important that she couldn't remember, almost as if the person had been wiped clean from her memory. She couldn't recall why or how she knew what would happen that night or how she saw it happen again. She didn't know why she was so sure that the event wasn't set in stone. She didn't even know why she was there.

Libby closed her eyes and raised her hands as far up as they could go, her palms pressing flat against the wooden surface. She focused all of her energy on breaking the wood. She could feel it start to vibrate and hear the nails rattling against the decaying wood before the surface snapped and dirt came pouring down. Libby reached her arms out, feeling around for something to grab onto.

When her hands felt a smooth, cold, surface, she found the edges and gripped them, using it to pull her weight out of the ground. Libby gasped for breath just as her head poked out of the ground, her lower half still stuck in the dirt. She let out a cry as she pulled herself out, the dirt gripping onto her legs to try and keep her down under. Finally, with one last cry of determination, Libby managed to roll onto the grass onto her back and stare up at the night sky. A slight breeze cooled her off, the heat and lack of oxygen in the casket proving to have been too much. But when Libby turned her head to the left she saw a headstone.

Mary Winchester

1954-1983

In Loving Memory

Her eyes widened and she sat up, glancing at the hole she had just dug herself out of. She was in Mary Winchester's grave, buried in her empty casket. But then she thought to herself, Who the hell is Mary Winchester? Why would someone bury me in her casket?

Libby pushed herself off of the ground, just then noticing her attire. It was a white dress, almost like an evening gown, that hugged her every curve and complimented her body. Her feet were barefoot and her hair was decent, matted with dirt and a bit of blood. Libby felt around her body for anything that could tell her where she was and who the hell buried her. She stopped when she felt a bulge on her side in a pocket of the dress. It was a cell phone. She clicked the side button, sighing with relief when the screen turned on. It was on low battery but still alive. Libby wondered why she knew how to work it as she swiped across the screen. It brought her to the homepage and she clicked the Contacts app. Only four numbers were programmed into the phone.

Libby shrugged and clicked the first contact, pressing the phone to her ear.

"Hello?" The voice was gruff and hoarse, almost as if the man had been crying for days. "Hello?" he asked again when she didn't reply.

"H-hello?" Libby stuttered. A gasp came from the other line and she heard a chair screeching back.

"Libby? Is that you?"

"Um, yes." The man laughed with relief. "But who are you?" His laughing stopped and his grin fell.

"What?"

"Who are you?" she repeated. "I don't recognize your name." The man's heart broke at that statement. The line was silent and Libby started to wonder if the phone had died. She pulled it away from her ear, furrowing her eyebrows when she saw that it still had twenty percent left.

"Libby, it's me. It's Sam," he said after a minute. She frowned. "Sam Winchester? Your boyfriend? Ring a bell?" She shook her head, running a hand through her hair in attempt to get most of the dirt out.

"Uh, no. Sorry." She let out a sigh. "I probably shouldn't ask this of you, but I have no idea where I am or why. I'm guessing if you were in my phone then you know who I am and that we trust each other. Would you mind, like, picking me up or something? It's really cold out and I'm scared." The trees rustled in the wind and the cold nipped at her skin, her nose turning red. Sam cleared his throat and nodded.

"Yeah, of course. I'll be there in about half an hour. Just stay put. Don't go anywhere. Got it?" he told the hybrid. She nodded and glanced around nervously.

"Yeah. I won't move." The line went dead and she sighed, taking in her surroundings. Libby wasn't sure if she could trust this Sam Winchester, but he was the first contact in her phone. That had to mean something, right?

~*~

A half an hour later Libby heard the faint rumble of a car engine. She spun around at the sight of headlights, a nineteen-sixty-seven Chevy Impala coming into view. Two men got out of the car, slamming the doors behind them, and made their way towards Mary Winchester's empty grave.

"Libby?" a different voice called out. She froze, tensing as the two large men neared. They towered over her, making her feel weak and vulnerable. But she knew she wasn't weak. She was one of the strongest beings to ever live. "Libby!" They picked up their pace when they recognized her, the shorter one engulfing her in a tight hug before the tall one could. "God, we thought you were dead," he said, his words muffled by her dirty hair.

"Libby, are you okay? What do you remember?" the taller man asked. She recognized his voice as the one from the phone. He was Sam Winchester. Except Sam Winchester looked exactly like Andrew, her dead fiancé.

"Andrew?" she asked. Sam frowned and shook his head.

"Uh, no. Andrew's dead, Libby. I'm sorry." But he really wasn't. Yes, Andrew had been dead for centuries after being taken over by Azrael, but he was never good enough for Libby. At least not now he wasn't. Libby nodded.

"Right, right. Of course. Um..." Dean pulled away, trying to push the thought that she hadn't hugged him back away. "N-Nothing. The last thing I remember is Hell. I was arguing with my father and then there was this bright white light. Then I woke up in a casket in some woman's grave." Her voice cracked and she started to panic.

"Libby, Libby, look at me. Look at me." Libby, hyperventilating, met Sam's gaze. "You died. And that white light and arguing with your father, that happened four years ago." Her green eyes widened. Four Earth years had gone by and she didn't remember any of it? Sam and Dean exchanged glances when Libby didn't show any signs of recognition. "Why don't we go get something to eat?" Sam suggested. "You must be starving." As if on cue, Libby's stomach growled and a slight blush took over her cheeks. Sam chuckled and shook his head. "Come on." Reluctantly, Libby followed the two Hunters to the Impala and slid in the backseat.

Her gaze shifted around the Impala constantly, never letting her guard down. Dean turned down the radio and glanced at her in the rearview mirror before pulling into the parking lot of a small diner. Libby looked out the window and leaned forward. The diner seemed eerily familiar but she couldn't pinpoint why.

"We're here," Dean announced, cutting the engine and getting out of the car. Libby bit her lip and stared down at the handle before pulling it and pushing the door open. Sam watched in curiosity as she slowly stepped out of the car. Dean eyed her up and down, shaking his head. "Yeah, you can't go in like that." Libby frowned down at her outfit.

"What? Why not?" Dean sighed and walked around the back of the Impala, unlocked the trunk and grabbed a backpack that was stashed in the corner. He tossed it at Libby, the girl fumbling as she caught it. Sam couldn't help but laugh.

"You look like you just escaped Hell," Dean deadpanned. She narrowed her gaze at him.

"That's because I did." Dean shook his head again.

"No, Libby, you didn't. I would know if you were in Hell because Crowley would be hanging it over our heads and so would Abaddon." Libby's eyes widened at the mention of the business man and the Knight of Hell. "What?"

"I thought Abaddon was dead. And Crowley's just a Crossroads Demon. You're Hunters. Why couldn't you just kill him?" she asked. Sam and Dean exchanged glances. Suddenly Libby gasped. "Oh my god. If I'm out then that means my father is, too. The Apocalypse-"

"Was stopped by the three of us four years ago," Sam finished, holding a hand out. "Libby, it's okay. You're safe. Lucifer is locked in the Cage with Michael." She nodded slowly.

"Would you...would you two mind filling me in on everything I've missed? Maybe it could help. I feel really lost and-" Libby started to hyperventilate again, putting Sam and Dean into panic mode. This wasn't the Libby they knew. Except the Libby they knew had been shaped into the woman she was because of them. If she didn't remember the past four years then she was just Elizabeth, daughter of Lucifer. Not Libby Wilson, Hunter Hybrid.

"Libby, calm down." Dean placed his hands on her shoulders and looked her in the eyes. For some reason she felt as if she were staring into Andrew's eyes. The relief those green eyes gave her calmed her down instantly. "Deep, slow breaths." She nodded, closing her eyes and focusing on her breathing. "We will make sure you know everything you need to, okay? Why don't you get changed?" he suggested.

"O-Okay. Okay. Yeah, I can do that."

Sam and Dean led her into the diner, grateful that it was empty since it was so late in the night. Sam rushed Libby to the bathroom before any waiters could come out and see her appearance.

"Let me know if you need help with anything." She nodded and locked the door behind her, stepping in front of the mirror. Libby took in her appearance. She had scratches that hadn't healed on her face, hidden under the dirt that she was buried under.

Libby let out a sigh before unzipping the backpack and pulling out a set of clothes. They were all black, making her furrow her eyebrows in confusion.

"Is that really how I dressed?" she muttered, holding up the short shirt that was her crop top. She shrugged and unzipped the dress, letting it fall to the floor. Libby stepped out of it and bent down to pick it up, folding it neatly and setting it on the counter. She pulled on her underwear and jeans, but stopped when she grabbed the bra. She couldn't really remember how to put it on. "Sam?" she called out.

"Everything okay?" Libby shook her head.

"No, I'm kinda confused."

"With?"

"This article of clothing." Sam furrowed his eyebrows in confusion as Libby unlocked the door for him to come in and help her. Her arms covered her chest as she held onto the black bra. Sam raised an eyebrow, chuckling slightly. "What's so funny?" He continued to laugh, locking the door behind him.

"Nothing, it's just that it's called a bra. Here. Let me." Libby eyed him warily. "Libby, we dated. There's nothing about you that I haven't seen." She nodded slowly.

"I'm gonna trust you on that," she replied, handing him the bra. Sam helped her slide her arms through the straps before walking around her, brushing her hair to the side so that he could clasp it. Libby shivered slightly at the feeling of his fingers on her back.

"By the way, your pants are on backwards." Libby looked down at her jeans before sliding them off and flipped them around. She struggled to pull them up over her legs and Sam watched in amusement.

"Why did I wear such tight clothes?" Libby grunted, finally managing to pull the black denim over her hips. Sam shrugged and helped her button them, sliding the zipper up. Libby sent him a grateful smile before grabbing her crop top. She pulled it on over her head, proud of herself when she saw that she put it on right.

"I never really minded the tight clothing," Sam told her, shrugging. "I mean, you look good in anything, obviously. But you could still fight and do everything you needed. It was just your style."

"How serious were we?" Libby questioned as she shrugged on the leather jacket, patting the pockets in search of anything left inside. Sam sighed.

"I guess we were pretty serious. I don't know, I never really thought about it. I mean, you'd die for me and I'd die for you." Libby stopped pulled the black boots from the backpack and looked up at him with sad eyes. "What?"

"Is that how I died? Saving your life?"

"No. You died protecting Humanity. The Angel of Hell, Azrael, was a threat and it was your job to kill him." She nodded sadly. "Libby, I hate to say it, but you're not as pure as you'd hoped. You have demon in you. You had to have known that."

"Y-yeah, I do. I know that. I could tell by the scars on my body. I just...I was supposed to be good. What happened?" Sam's heart practically broke for the girl. She was confused, scared, and disappointed. Disappointed in herself for not staying pure like she had promised.

"Libby, you did what you had to do to protect us. To protect Humanity." There was a knock on the bathroom door, making Libby jump slightly.

"Guys, hurry up. It's been like ten minutes. I know Libby wears tight clothes but they're not that hard to get on," Dean called out before walking away. Sam chuckled, shaking his head, before handing her the boots.

"Come on." Libby quickly pulled on the shoes and zipped them up before stuffing the dress in the bag. She leaned down to the sink and turned it on, splashing water on her face to rinse off the dirt. When she looked up in the mirror she just looked like a woman who had gotten into a bad fight. Noticeable, but not horrible. She ran a brush from the front pocket of the bag through her hair until it looked decent before walking out of the bathroom with Sam.

Dean glanced up from his burger at the sight of Libby. He stopped mid-chew and studied her. She looked exactly like the old Libby had.

"Why are you staring at me?" Libby questioned as she took the open seat next to Sam. Dean swallowed the food in his mouth and shook his head.

"Nothing, it's just-" He sighed. "You've been gone for weeks. Dead. It's just good to see you." Dean pushed a bowl of caesar salad towards Libby. "Eat up. We gotta head back to the Bunker soon. Kevin's waiting for us," he replied. Libby nodded.

"Kevin Tran, the Prophet?" she guessed. Dean nodded, raising his eyebrows in shock. "I, uh, know all of the Prophets. I just assumed-"

"Yeah," Sam muttered, stabbing his fork into his salad and taking a bite. "Yeah, Kevin doesn't know we went to get you so just don't do anything..." He trailed off, searching for a good word to describe it. Libby raised an eyebrow.

"Supernatural? Dangerous?" Sam nodded his head to the side. It wasn't quite what he was looking for but it'd do. "Don't worry. I'm sure I can figure it out." Sam couldn't help but snort.

"Libby, you can work a phone but you can't put on a bra." Dean's head snapped up, eyes wide. "I don't know if you could figure it out. No offense." Dean held up a hand.

"Wait. Hold up. Did you just say she didn't know how to put on a bra?" Dean questioned. Sam and Libby both nodded. "So that's what took so long." Sam just rolled his eyes as Dean's lips curled into a smirk. Libby looked between the brothers in confusion.

"Am I missing something here?" she asked, taking another bite of salad. Sam shook his head, stopping his brother from replying.

"No. Dean's just being a jerk." Dean chuckled and shook his head, munching down on his burger. "Eat up. The diner closes soon." Libby nodded and went back to her salad, sipping her Diet Coke every now and then.

  ~*~ 

"So this is how you look for cases? A computer?" Libby questioned as her green eyes skimmed the page. Sam nodded. "And it works every time?"

"Pretty much," Sam replied. Dean entered the room at that moment, smiling at the sight of Libby and Sam. It was just like before how Libby and Sam would do the research and look for cases. And while they searched for the supernatural, they'd flirt with each other and exchange nerdy and geeky jokes to keep it interesting.

"And the world is pretty much oblivious to the supernatural?" Libby asked. Sam nodded again.

"I mean, yeah, for the most part. There's us Hunters and then the people we save that know about it, but that's about it. Everyone else is in the dark unless they start to play around with it." Libby furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. "Like we once had a case where this guy was using a fairy to win some LARPing game. He was killing people, doing whatever it took to bring home the gold. People are just crazy like that." Libby let out a low whistle and chuckled.

"That's way past crazy," she replied. She pointed to the computer screen, stopping Sam from scrolling. She pointed to an article and started to skim over it. "That seems weird and crazy enough for us, right?" Sam nodded, grinning like a proud father. She hadn't even been back a day and she was already back in the game. Now they just had to see how well she was at fighting and what she remembered. Dean decided to show himself at that moment, walking in the room. Sam glanced up at his footsteps.

"Hey," Dean greeted. "How're you settling in...again?" Libby shrugged, glancing around.

"It's a nice place. Big, cozy, safe. I like it. Although I'm still having trouble finding my room on my own," she replied. Dean chuckled, licking his chapped lips.

"It's not like you really slept in your room that much." Libby furrowed her eyebrows. "You and Sam slept in his room a lot," Dean clarified. She nodded, her mouth forming an 'O' shape in understanding. Sam sent Dean a glare as if telling him to shut up now.

"Alright," Sam said, ending the conversation. "Well, uh, I got something that's gonna get us back on the road." Dean took the seat on the other side of his brother, glancing at the screen as Sam started to type again.

"A case?" he asked. Sam nodded.

"Yeah."

"You sure you're ready for that?" Libby couldn't help but notice how worried Dean sounded. She was told about the Trials and what they did to her and Sam, but she couldn't see anything wrong with him. He seemed to be perfectly healthy. At least for a Hunter.

"Why would I not be ready for that?" Sam asked with a slight chuckled.

"Aren't you kind of running on empty?" Dean replied with a shrug. Sam nodded his head to the side, turning to look at his older brother.

"Yeah, but the last three nights straight, I had eight hours of shut-eye. For a hunter, that's like twenty. Trust me, Dean. I feel good," Sam assured him. Libby got up, leaving the room for few minutes to find something to eat. She hadn't eaten yet that day and she was starving. But as she walked past a bookcase she caught sight of a familiar old, red, book. The spine was starting to tear and the ends were scuffed. The pages were yellowed, almost starting to curl up. Libby glanced behind her to make sure that the boys weren't watching her before pulling the book off of the shelf.

It felt familiar, but she didn't know why. She opened it up to the first page and ran her fingers along the words, confused. Her name was mentioned several times, and everything that happened in the first few pages were stories that she remembered Gabriel telling her. After she had become curious about her father, Gabriel would tell her how he fell and why. He'd explain that he wasn't a good man and that's why he was locked away.

Libby flipped towards the middle of the book, landing on a new chapter. Everything it described was how she felt as she escaped Hell the first time. The bright, blinding, white light. The wind. The rain. The thunder and lightning. Everything was there. A sudden pain shot through Libby's head and she gasped, dropping the book and clutching her head.

"Libby?" Dean asked, looking up from the computer.

"Libby, what's wrong?" Sam added, the brothers getting up from their seats and walking over to the Hybrid. A few memories flashed before her eyes. They all looked younger; more innocent.

"Guess who else just escaped Hell thanks to your brother?" Bobby replied. Dean glanced back over at Libby with wide eyes. This time her eyes widened.

"I'm not him, I swear!" she shrieked. "I'm not Lucifer, I'm just his daughter." The gun fell from Bobby's grasp in shock. Libby watched the gun tumble to the carpeted motel room floor, cringing at the slight echo the impact made throughout the room. Dean ran towards her, ready to stab her with the blade, when she grabbed his arm and threw him on the bed. The knife fell out of his hands and Libby reached her hand out, an invisible force bringing the blade into her grasp. "I don't want to hurt you. I want to help you. My father needs to be stopped and you're the only ones who can help me."

"Why would you want to lock away your father?" Bobby sneered, reaching for another weapon. Libby flicked her hand and Bobby flew against the wall, stuck to the moldy wallpaper.

"Stop trying to hurt me and I can explain. You're making me mad and I don't like being mad. It just makes me like him," she pleaded. Dean and Bobby exchanged glances, nodding.

"You got five minutes before my brother busts back in here and kills you," Dean said. Libby breathed a sigh of relief and nodded, letting Bobby fall back to the ground gently.

Her eyes snapped open and her breathing slowed. Her hands shook as she lowered them from her head and clutched the wall for support. "Libby?" Sam asked cautiously.

"Bobby," she whispered. Dean's eyes widened. "There was a man named Bobby. And you were there." She nodded her head at Dean. "We were at some motel room or something."

"Libby, that was the first time we met. It was right when Lucifer and you were released," Dean replied. Libby's eyes widened. She had remembered something. "Did you remember anything else?" She slowly shook her head, the hope she just had slowly diminishing. Dean snatched the book from the floor and turned it over in his hands. Sam gulped, looking away. "I thought you got rid of this," Dean muttered.

"Dean, I-"

"I told you to get rid of this!" Dean snapped. Libby jumped, taking a step back from Dean. He sent her an apologetic look before glancing towards his brother. "I made it clear that I didn't want this book in the Bunker."

"I know, Dean, but I couldn't bring myself to get rid of it. None of us have read it cover to cover and I thought that maybe, just maybe, it'd have a way to save Libby. It had only been weeks but I knew how hard it would be to get over her death. I was willing to do anything to bring her back," Sam argued. Dean nodded, shoving the book against his little brother's chest.

"When I want something gone I want something gone. We could've learned to live without Libby." Ouch. "We've learned to live without Dad and Bobby. Sam, Libby's family, I know. She's your soulmate, I know. But remember what happens every time we try to bring the ones we love back? Everything goes to Hell or worse. I wasn't willing to risk that again."

"She died for us, Dean! We at least owed it to her to try and bring her back!" They spoke as if Libby wasn't standing just a few feet from them, watching their every move. Anger boiled in Dean's blood and Sam just stared Dean in disbelief.

"She was meant to save Humanity," Dean said calmly. "And she died doing that. She died defeating Azrael." Dean looked to the redhead who cowered in the corner. "Libby, if you died saving the world would you want someone to try and bring you back?" She bit her lip in thought, wondering what she'd want Sam or Dean to do. A noble death sounded like a good death.

"Unless I had major unfinished business, then no. What's dead should stay dead," she replied softly, her words barely audible. Dean looked to Sam with an 'I told you so' look, nodding his head to the side to emphasize his point. Sam shook his head, scoffing.

"Whatever. I'm gonna go get ready for the case." He stormed off, retreating down one of the halls, to leave Dean and Libby standing there. Once Sam's retreating figure was out of sight, the redhead looked up at Dean.

"Do you two fight this often?" Dean sighed, running a hand down his face, and shrugged.

"Depends on the day, I guess. Why don't you go pack a bag? Your FBI getup is hanging up in your closet and your shoes are in the box on the shelf. I think your badge is still sitting on your desk," Dean suggested. Libby nodded and walked away, hoping that she'd find her room with no problem.

Even a few weeks after she had died, neither Winchester could bring themselves to cleaning out her room. Sometimes one of them would just sit in there on the bed, staring off at the wall or going through pictures of the three of them. After spending so much time in her room they had learned where everything was, including where she hid her Sword.

When Libby walked in the room her Sword was sitting on her bed in its sheath, the crystal sparkling back at her. Sam must've put it there for her. She had yet to use it since her return considering it had only been two days since she crawled out of the ground.

Saying that Kevin was shocked to see the dead Archangel would be an overstatement. He had known that there was no way she was going to stay dead. Someone that important to the existence of the universe wouldn't just die. Something powerful, more powerful than an Angel of Hell, had to kill them.

About fifteen minutes later there was a knock on the door to Libby's room and she spun around to see Sam. She could feel a certain energy radiating off of him, but it wasn't human like she'd expect. It was almost...angelic. Libby furrowed her eyebrows in confusion, but shook it off before Sam could notice.

"Hey, you almost ready?" he asked, glancing around the room. Libby nodded mutely, rolling her bottom lip between her teeth as she stuffed the FBI getup and badge into the duffel bag. "You don't have to play FBI if you don't want to. You can hang back in the motel until we get back and start some research." Libby shook her head.

"No, uh, it's cool. I mean, if I'm a Hunter I gotta re-learn how to play the role sooner or later, right?" Sam nodded, leaning against the door frame. "Listen, about the fight with Dean; I'm sorry. I didn't mean to start anything between you two." Sam shook his head, waving his hand.

"No, no, no. Libby, it's not your fault. Dean's right; I should've tossed the book. But now I'm glad I didn't. That may be the key to getting you back your memories." She nodded, Sam sending her a small smile. She forced one back, but Sam could tell it wasn't genuine. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, why do you ask?" Libby replied as she zipped up the duffel, grabbing her leather jacket from the chair at her desk. Sam sighed.

"I get how overwhelming this can be for you. If something's too much, don't be afraid to tell us. We won't-"

"Sam, I'm fine," Libby snapped. Sam raised his eyebrows in shock, but nodded. Libby ran a hand through her hair in stress. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap at you. I know how hard this has to be for you." Libby let out a laugh. "I'm your dead girlfriend but I have absolutely no memory of you besides the fact that you look like my ex. And-and you two keep talking about this Azrael guy that I killed. Who the hell was he?" Sam's head lowered his head, almost in shame and guilt, and scratched the back of his head.

"Libby, Azrael was, um, Azrael was Andrew." Libby's eyes widened. "He died right after you were banished to Hell and later became Hell's Angel. He was too far gone and he was a threat. I'm sorry." Libby sat back on her bed, staring at the wall as she processed everything Sam had said. She had killed the one man she had loved when she had a somewhat-normal life.

He was an Angel of Hell. A demon. He needed to be killed, she convinced herself. But it didn't stop the guilt from eating away at her. She had killed someone. Libby figured that she had killed many people and things after the Winchester told her that she was Hunter and explained what it was, but she never really put more thought into it than needed.

"We should really get going," Sam said awkwardly after a minute or so. Libby nodded and wiped away a stray tear, grabbing her duffel.

"Um, yeah. Let's go." Libby walked out of the room without another word, heading straight for the Impala and leaving Sam behind. Dean leaned against the hood of the Impala in the garage, impatiently waiting for Libby and Sam. Libby greeted Dean with a small smile before tossing her duffel bag in the trunk. Her Sword was strapped around her waist and she looked as if nothing had changed except for one feature. If Dean hadn't looked closely enough, he wouldn't have seen the odd tattoo on her chest.

"Hey, Libby?" he said, walking towards her. She looked up from the trunk.

"Yeah?" Dean gestured to her chest, right over her heart.

"That tattoo. Where'd you get it?" Libby furrowed her eyebrows in confusion before pulling her shirt to the side to see the tattoo he was talking about.

"I don't know. I thought I got it when I was with you guys." Dean shook his head. "And neither of you noticed it before?"

"No. I wasn't really paying attention," he replied. She shrugged and took walked around the the backseat of the Impala on the driver's side and opened the door.

"Well, I like it. We can research it later. I'm kinda excited for this case," she told him with a grin. A smile tugged at Dean's lips at the statement. Libby had always enjoyed cases, even if it was just a simple vampire or ghost. She was doing her job of protecting humanity while Hunting, giving her the feeling of purpose and triumph. And when they completed a successful case with minimal deaths, she was always happier than the days before.

"Well, we should get going then," Dean said as Sam entered the garage, throwing his bag in the trunk in between Dean and Libby's before slamming the trunk shut. The three Hunters all piled into the car like old times. Libby had only ridden in the Impala a few times but she found the hum of the engine comforting already, except this time the angelic presence kept her on edge. As far as she knew, Castiel had lost his Grace when Metatron cast out the angels. And even if it was him, he supposedly left without reason. According to Dean, at least.

"So you enjoying your stay at Casa de Winchester?" Dean questioned as he sped out of the garage and into the daylight. Libby shrugged and nodded, pulling out a book. It was book one in the Supernatural series, given to her from Sam in hopes of jogging her memory.

"Yeah. It's not that bad. I can see why you guys stay there. You have everything you'd ever need." Libby frowned slightly. "I don't remember my home very much."

"On Earth or Heaven?" Sam asked.

"Both, actually. I know that Earth's was simple and small, but it was still nice and cozy. A little harsh in the winter, but cozy," she replied. Sam nodded, watching her in the reflection of the windshield as she opened up to the first page of the book, starting off with a little back story of their past. Libby frowned as she read through the chapters about their mother and how she died, and her heart seemed to shatter at the description of their father. "Is this how your childhood really was?" she had questioned. Dean nodded.

"Yeah. I take it you had a better one?" he said, glancing at her in the rearview mirror. Libby shrugged, turning the page.

"It had its ups and downs. I mean, being the daughter of the literal Devil and an angel wasn't easy. But I had Andrew there for me through it all along with Gabriel." Libby scoffed, shaking her head. "Gabriel was quite the handful, but a good father figure. Do you know what happened to him?" Libby looked up from her book to see Sam and Dean exchanging solemn glances. She immediately recognized those looks. "He's dead, isn't he?" Sam nodded and turned around in his seat to look at the redhead.

"Yeah. I'm sorry. He was killed your first year here." Libby breathed in a sharp breath and nodded, forcing the tears back. She wouldn't get to see Gabriel again. "You're a lot like him, you know. Or, at least you were," Sam told her. Libby tilted her head to the side in interest.

"How so?"

"The sarcasm, the attitude, the way you protected your family even if they were horrible to you. You'd do anything to make sure the ones you love were okay, even if it hurt someone else," Dean explained, keeping his eyes on the road. "It's what makes you a Winchester in our eyes." Libby smiled slightly and ducked her head down, her red hair framing her face to hide the slight blush. "Family doesn't end in blood, and it doesn't start there either. You're family, Libby, whether you know it or not."

"Bobby said that," she whispered. Sam and Dean both nodded. "I have small memories after that one. We had been in a fight, I guess, about how I didn't belong. He argued saying that I did and that I was now family. He believed in me when my own father didn't." Sam chuckled, smiling and nodding his head.

"Sounds like Bobby," he replied. The car went silent, no one else carrying on conversation. So Dean turned up the radio and let it play. But when Heat of the Moment came on, Sam quickly changed the tape from Asia to Metallica. Libby sent him a questioning glance.

"Uh, Gabriel loved his tricks," Sam told her awkwardly. Dean raised an eyebrow at his brother and shook his head, turning up the radio. Libby shrugged and went back to the book, getting lost in the lives of Sam and Dean Winchester for the next few hours.