A few days later, Castiel finally returns to the bunker. I'm the first to see him, and the first to let him know what's on my mind.

"Mallory, hello," he greets. There's a nervous air about him; he knows I'm unhappy.

"Cas," I acknowledge him. "Can we talk?"

He nods, "Of course."

"I wish you would've talked to me about this whole soul thing instead of Dean," I admit, doing my best to keep my cool. "I still don't understand why it can't work."

"Let me explain," Cas offers, taking a seat. I follow suit. "I did more digging and have more to inform you of." I nod, encouraging him to continue.

"The reason it is less likely to work is because of your blood. I know that doesn't make much sense, but hear me out. Humanity isn't simply a celestial thing — your soul isn't the only component. Your DNA, the material you're made from, tips the scales greatly. What I'm telling you is that your material is predominantly reaper DNA."

"So reapers have different DNA than people?" I ask, my face scrunched in confusion.

"Every living kingdom has a different DNA structure. That's just basic science," he rolls his eyes. "But yes. You need more material from your human side. And your mother is..."

"Dead, yes," I complete his sentence. Cas is taken aback for a moment at my abrupt response. "So?"

"That would have been your best bet for making this work," he explains. "You need a DNA transfusion from a human closely related to you."

"How would that work?" I ask. "DNA is tiny and inseparable from the rest of everything."

"Not for an angel," Cas reminds me. "I have my ways. If I can get a sample from you, I can track down people related to your mother and find your best bet." He pauses. "Second best, anyway."

"O-okay," I stutter. I felt apprehensive of whether or not this would really work. Nevertheless, I hold my arm out and pull my sleeve up some to expose my veins.

"You're ready now?" Cas questions.

"There's no sense in waiting," I shrug. "I've done enough of that."

He nods in agreement and tells me to wait a second. He disappears for a few minutes, then returns with a syringe and some cloths. I take the cloths from him and rest my arm on them, holding it still and ready.

"You're sure about this?" Cas ensures one last time.

"Yes," I repeat myself.

Cas ties a tourniquet onto my bicep, cinching it just enough for discomfort. I look away, and feel the prick of the needle piercing my arm. He draws the plunger back, filling the receptacle with the dark red liquid. When he's finished, he removes the needle and places a cotton ball on the draw site.

"This will do," he nods, assessing my blood. "I'll begin my search immediately. I'll be in touch."

Before I can thank him, he's gone again. Dean enters the room and gives me a look of confusion and uncertainty.

"Cas needed some blood," I fill him in.

"Alright then," Dean shrugs and walks over to me. Without warning, he rips the cloth tourniquet off my arm. "You don't want to keep that on. You'll lose an arm."

"Right," I nod.

"Question, do you want to go on a hunt?" Dean asks out of the blue.

"Why wouldn't you just take Sam?" I reply.

"He'll go too, but you need to learn how to hunt," he insists. "An extra pair of hands is always good."

"Even an extra pair of hands that's never actually killed a ghost?" I clarify. "I understand the methods of killing everything, but I haven't ever hunted. I'm sheltered."

"Everything?" Dean questions.

I grin. "Castiel's training paid off. He pretty much just taught me everything he knew. Plus all the reading, I'm set."

"Then yes, a good pair of hands," Dean assures me. "There's some weird stuff going on in Kansas City. Missing teenagers that took a trip to a haunted house. Looks like a ghost. I figured it's close, and looks like something we can handle."

"Okay, I'm up for it," I agree, feeling a jitter of excitement. "I've seen my fair share of ghosts."

Dean laughs, a smile leaking through his tough complexion. "I'll get the weapons, you go pack a bag. Garage, 30 minutes."

With a spring in my step, I hurry to my room and throw some clothes in a bag. Not that it truly matters; I wear practically the same outfit every day. Black shirt, black jacket, black jeans, black boots. This was my protocol in the veil. The thought of trying different clothing crosses my mind, but I dismiss it. I'm comfortable in what is basically my uniform.

When I have all my things gathered, I wait patiently in the garage next to the impala. Finally, the boys appear in the doorway.

"Took you long enough," I remark, taking my place in the backseat.

The drive to Kansas City is long. Four hours is grueling enough, not to mention the silence lingering in the cabin of the car.

When we reach the motel, it's sundown, and Dean is tired from a long drive. I follow the boys inside and wait patiently as they check in. When they're finished, I simply follow them down the hall, unsure of what exactly I'm supposed to be doing.

Dean slows so I can catch up to him. "Hey," he says, handing me a room key, "I got you your own room. I didn't think you'd want to be stuck with me and Sam. It's right beside ours, so no worries, just knock on the wall or something if you need us."

I take the key from him. "Thanks, I appreciate the privacy."

"Yeah. See you in the morning, bright and early."

I nod and we go our separate ways. The room, once I'm inside, turns out to be fairly nice. It has everything I need, and plenty I don't, but it's a room.

I don't sleep. As much as I'd like to give my mind a rest from the fatigue of my thoughts, something keeps me awake. As morning breaks, I'm quick to clean up and get dressed. After a while of waiting, Dean knocks on my door, telling me it's time to do research and investigate.

The following events are slow. The law enforcement comply with Sam and Dean, giving them all the information they need. I have no role in this, due to my instructions to stay quiet. The families don't have much more to offer than the police did. Sam and Dean make the decision to commence the hunt at night, when there aren't any witnesses to see us desecrating a grave and burning its contents.

"Are all your cases this...anticlimactic?" I ask Dean sheepishly.

"No," he replies, his tone defensive. "It's just something easy to start you on. And missing people isn't boring."

I want to argue; I want to say I don't need an easy start, but it's probably for the best.

We wait out the clock together in the boys' room. The three of us chat idly, tossing around gameplans for the hunt.

"Sam's good at digging graves," Dean informs me. "It's all in those shoulders."

"Hey, at least I'm tall enough to climb out of a grave after I dig it," Sam banters. I laugh, finding humor in both Sam's joke and the offense happening across Dean's face.

"That was one time!" Dean defends himself. "I was injured."

"Right. What was it? A twisted ankle?"

"It was sprained. Cas said so."

"Oh, yeah, right," Sam recalls sarcastically.

"Anyway, are we about ready to head out?" Dean asks. "The sun's setting."

Sam agrees. They begin sorting out weapons.

"Mal, come here," Dean commands.

I walk a few steps to where Dean stands at a table with a bag of various weapons. It leads me to wonder whether he really needs all of this.

"You're going to take this." He hands me an iron rod. "And this." He hands me a container of salt. "Do you know what to do with them?"

I nod, remembering what Cas taught me. Swing with iron, circle with salt.

"Good. You'll be with me." He pauses, remnants of a smile settling on his features. "We're going in to find the missing kids, Sam's going out back to salt and burn the bones. Take this, too." He gives me a flashlight.

I nod once more, in agreement with his plans.

Upon arriving to the run down house, Dean goes over the plan one more time.

"Okay, you and me are going inside to find Alexis and Dawson. Sam is going out back to the field to burn the bones. Sound good?"

Sam and I both nod. Dean faces me.

"Whatever you do, you stay inside the salt circle, got it? And don't be stingy with the iron, if it gets close to you, swing."

"Dean, I've been dealing with ghosts my whole life," I remind him. "Don't worry."

"How about vengeful spirits?" He fires back. I stutter, unsure of how to respond. "That's what I thought. You haven't dealt with this, so you need to be careful. Let's go."