When the boys had been plotting to rescue Lucifer, they hadn't expected to find you there. You were just a teenager, no older than sixteen, and she had you restrained with Lucifer. Or, well, Castiel. Lucifer in Castiel. Casifer?

Metatron seemed to recognize you. At least the grace residing inside you. You were Chuck's kid from one of his little pet project universes. The likely story being that Chuck banged some chic then abandoned that world before she realized she was pregnant. But that opened up a whole other can of worms.

How powerful were you?

Logically, you'd have the same basic abilities as angels. Accelerated healing, telekinesis, and you probably had wings, even if the boys couldn't see them. The angels were all sorta his kids, so you were technically an angel. But Chuck didn't create you out of thin air, you were incubated like a human. So could you create life or destroy it?

There was no time to figure it out. They piled you and a very injured Lucifer in the impala and sped back to the bunker, Metatron staying behind to fight Amara. It quickly became clear that Amara had taken you from your world to try and hurt Chuck.

When the group entered the bunker and sat Lucifer on the couch, you hovered around the archangel. You'd grown fond of your half-brother, even if he was this universe's Satan.

"Where'd you pick up a kid?" Chuck asked, coming in from the kitchen. Sam and Dean glanced at each other awkwardly, Sam starting to stammer. Lucifer smiled for the first time since his rescue. He was positively gleeful at the scenario unfolding.

Your eyes met Chuck's, and you waved awkwardly, "Hello, father."