In the following days, Dean and I don't have much contact. He's busy making sure Sam is acclimated to life with a soul again. I don't blame him, because Sam seems to be a polar opposite. I actually like Sam now.

Now, I spend most of my time in my room. Sam set up a TV in my room and showed me how to work it, and also introduced me to a book series called Harry Potter. That's what I do for most of my time. I read and watch daytime television.

At first glance, it seems weird for me to be doing stuff like this, but I thoroughly enjoy it. I'm adjusting well to the normal side of human life, even if I'm not quite human. Yet.

I can hear Sam and Dean talking down the hall, and I decide to eavesdrop.

"I just don't think you're ready yet, Sam," Dean lectures.

"Dean, you're acting like I'm going on my first hunt," Sam argues. "I lost my soul, not my memory. I still know everything that I've done. I can go on hunts alone."

Dean audibly sighs. "Fine, whatever. Just be careful, okay? Call if you need something."

"Okay, mom," Sam jokes.

I don't hear anything else, but I safely assume Sam got himself one of Dean's signature eye rolls. I wait a few minutes, then decide to go sit out in the main room for a while. My room gets boring and there's only so much I can read and watch until my eyes feel like they'll fall out of my head.

As I enter the room, I find Sam, throwing numerous objects into a bag. Gun, ammo, knives, small bottles of various liquids.

"Hey," he greets me distractedly.

"Hi," I respond, and take a seat across from him. "Going somewhere?"

He nods. "Some weird news down in Texas, I figured I'd go see what's up. It's been a while since I've hunted on my own."

"Oh," I absorb his statement. "Well, be safe, and see you when you get back."

"Yeah, see you later." Sam pauses a second. "By the way, I didn't get a chance to apologize to you for how I acted when you first got here. I didn't think. Or feel. Or anything like that. I hope it doesn't effect anything between us."

"It's okay, I understand," I shrug. "You didn't have much of a choice of how you were acting. Don't worry about it."

Sam gives me a friendly grin. "Thanks."

With that, he ascends the stairs and leaves. I smile to myself; it feels nice to be accepted by all three of my "teammates" as Cas would call them.

"What are you smiling about?" Dean asks. I jump, not expecting him. He laughs.

"N-nothing," I reply. "Do you always stalk me like this?"

"You wish," he chuckles.

"I do not," I mumble uncomfortably.

Dean takes a drink of his beer and sits across from me. "Do you want anything?"

"I'm good, thanks though," I decline. "Any big plans for the day?"

Dean shrugs. "I might go do some target practice. You ever shot a gun before?"

"Not really," I shake my head. "My speciality is in hand-to-hand combat. Knives."

"That only gets you so far. Come on, I'll give you the run down and show you how to shoot."

Hesitantly, I follow him downstairs into the basement. Down a long corridor, we walk through a door that opens into a large room with various target ranges.

"How big is this place?" I ask. "It seems like you've got everything you need all in the bunker."

Dean nods. "You could explore this place for hours and still not see everything."

"Here," he holds up a pistol and something else, "watch. This is a magazine. Your bullets go in here, like this." Dean loads a few bullets into the magazine. "Then the mag goes into the gun, like this." He inserts it into the gun.

Dean spends a few more minutes explaining how to cock the gun and load rounds into the chamber, as well as how to work the safety and hold the gun. I watch intently, but I somehow frequently find myself distracted by his hands.

"Okay, here," he hands me the gun. I hold it awkwardly, not being used to the feeling. "See if you can put a few rounds into that target."

Shakily, I raise the gun, and Dean stops me.

"Hold on, you're doing it wrong," he says. "Stay how you are."

I do as Dean tells me to. In a moment, Dean is standing behind me. He puts his arms around my frame, then clasps his hands over mine, around the gun. At this point, I'm no longer focused on the gun in front of me. Rather, I'm focused on the man behind me.

"Relax your arms a bit. If you're tense, you'll hesitate, and it'll throw your shot off. Put your right hand here," he guides my right hand, "And your left hand on the side," he instructs and guides me again. "Okay. Index on the trigger."

I place my finger on the trigger. Out of nowhere, Dean squeezes my hands ever so slightly, and a bullet shoots from the barrel. It doesn't quite hit the target, but I'm still surprised.

Dean releases me and laughs.

"What are you laughing at?" I scowl.

"Your aim is a bit off," he comments. "Don't worry, we've got plenty of time to work on it."

Dean and I stay in the gun range for what feels like hours. Sadly, he doesn't help me hold the gun again like he did, but he stayed patient with me the whole time, which was nice enough.

"I'm gonna go get some dinner, do you want anything?" He asks as we leave the range.

I shake my head. "I don't eat. I'm just going to head to my room and relax a little."

"Alright," he shrugs.

We part ways and I go to my dwelling. I hear the door shut, signaling that I'm alone. As I sit down on my bed, I take a deep breath and smile to myself. As trivial as my current situation is, I find myself happy, and grateful to be in the company of two flannel-clad idiots and their angel.

A while later, Dean returns. I hear him shuffling around down the hall. A few minutes pass before he shows up in my doorway.

"Hey, I picked up some stuff I thought you might want to try," Dean grins and waves a hand. "Come on."

Excitedly, I hop off my bed and follow Dean down the hall. Without another thought, I follow him into his room. There's two bags sitting on a folding table beside his bed. He climbs onto his bed and pats the space beside him. That's when I come back to reality, and become sheepish.

"What?" He asks.

"Nothing," I shrug, "just spaced out for a second."

Trying to mask my hesitance, I take a seat next to him and get as comfortable as my conscious will let me.

Dean turns on an old movie, then starts rifling through bags. "Okay, so here's what I brought." He sets down a bag in front of me. "There's a taco, a burger and some fries in there. I got a bunch of junk food too, it's thrown in at the bottom."

I laugh. "It seems that this is all junk food."

"Don't judge me," he warns. "You might just like it as much as I do."

Though I teased Dean, I'm quick to figure out that the junk food is actually really good. Dean makes a point to tell me that he told me so before he puts on an old western movie. I burrow underneath the covers and decide to put all my attention toward the move to calm my nerves.

The movie is extremely long. I lose interest in it after about an hour and simply stare at the ceiling, basking in the white noise and quiet lighting. I wonder to myself if Dean is even still awake.

After a while longer of lying there, still, my curiously is answered as I hear a soft snore come from the other side of the bed. I laugh quietly, but it's cut short as Dean rolls over and throws an arm across my torso.

I practically stop breathing. Part of me panics, part of me feels an extremely impactful happiness. My first instinct, of course, would be to free myself and leave, but something's stopping me. Something wants to stay right here.

And I listen to that something. After all, I'd hate to wake him. Maybe I'll get some sleep myself.