[M rating for any sort of drugs, alcohol, violence, or sexual content we may come up with in the future. Just to be safe.]

The lock on the doorknob clicked softly, but it was enough. Nora had been cleaning up, grumbling to herself at the way her uncle Bobby let the place go to hell. She stopped in at least once a month; she didn't like the idea of the man who'd raised her staying in this house alone but she still had to go out hunting, usually some place across the country. Bobby was out in town and had locked the door behind himself so as Nora dusted she carefully pulled a sawed-off shotgun from under the couch and aimed it at the door. She took a few slow, deep breaths and watched the door, tucking her dusting rag into her belt loop.

"Nora?"

She let the breath go and relaxed at Sam's familiar voice. "Knocking is usually a good idea," she suggested, setting the gun down carefully before crossing to hug the boys each in turn. "Damn near shot you."

"Thought that was your beat-down old hoopdie out there." Sam grinned as he hugged her back. When Nora's parents had died Bobby had taken her in and raised her as his own, and as such she'd become a sort of adopted cousin to the Winchester boys.

"You leave my baby alone." Nora had lovingly adopted a rusted-out VW Bus named Old Charlie and made it her home instead of staying in seedy hotels like many hunters. Curtains, a cheap mattress, and a hotplate ensured that all she really lacked was indoor plumbing, for which she stopped at truck stops when she needed a shower. "So ah...who's your friend here?" Her gaze turned to a third man who'd walked in behind them. He looked disheveled in his trenchcoat and backwards tie, but still she extended her hand cordially. "Nora Singer."