#good luck deciphering this i guess sorry its kinda hard 2 look at.

[milfyspamton]

happy tdov  <3

[thenovelartist]

Burned Beginnings, chapter 2

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4. Best Friends

In the month or so he’d been working there, Adrien hadn’t worked much with Marinette. Tonight, though, he’d be running a night shift with her.

“Adrien, I would never say anything bad about my daughter,” Mr. Dupain said with a sympathetic expression. “But if she gives you trouble, don’t hesitate to tell me.”

“Nah, don’t worry about it,” Adrien dismissed. “I’m pretty sure I know why she acts like that.”

“What was that?” Mrs. Cheng asked, entering the kitchen.

Mr. Dupain looked confused for a moment, and Adrien thought it wouldn’t hurt to explain everything to them. This was their employee and daughter, after all. If Adrien were in their shoes, he’d like to be in the know. “A childhood friend of mine is Chloe Bourgeois.”

In an instant, Mrs. Cheng nodded as though she understood. “I already see where this is going.”

“I don’t know all the details, but they were seemingly at each other’s throats often. And from what I can guess, one of those topics that set them off was apparently me. But that’s only my best guess.”

“As much sense as that makes,” Mrs. Cheng said, “that’s still no excuse for Marinette to act that way around you, and she knows it. If it continues, Adrien, I’ll have a talk with her.”

“Don’t,” Adrien cut in. “Really, she’s free to think that way. I don’t hold it against her.”

The two owners exchanged a look Adrien couldn’t quite decipher before turning back to him.

“Well,” Mr. Dupain said, a slightly forced smile on his face. “Maybe tonight will give you two a chance to break the ice.”

Adrien shrugged. “Only if she’s open to it. But don’t bug her about it, okay?”

“Sorry, Adrien, but I can’t keep that promise,” Mrs. Cheng spoke up. “Because no matter what you think of each other, this is a bakery that needs to function at its best. And it won’t be if she refuses to cooperate with you.”

“We won’t tell her what to think,” Mr. Dupain said. “But my wife is right: Marinette can be a bit stubborn at times. I feel like you two are somehow similar in that way.”

Adrien snorted. Him? Similar to Marinette? He doubted it. She had way more fire in her than he did, and he was not going to press his luck and get burned by it.

Still, upon seeing the earnestly worried looks on his bosses’ faces, he wouldn’t press the issue. “I’ll try breaking the ice, but I’m not forcing her.”

Mr. Dupain sighed, but his smile widened. “You’re a really good kid, Adrien. I knew I made the right choice in hiring you. Thanks for being such a good sport.”

Adrien wouldn’t deny how nice it felt to be complimented like that. “Thank you, sir.”

…

Adrien fully expected a mouth full of sarcasm and sass that night. Shockingly, it never came.

“So,” she said, holding the special-order sheet out for him to see. “I’ll run you through how orders like these are taken, and then I’ll show you how to plan for them and complete them, okay?”

He didn’t fully trust that she’d just dropped the cold shoulder overnight for no reason. Therefore, he wouldn’t push his luck. “Understood.”

Throughout the whole process, Marinette didn’t take it slow like Mr. Dupain would have. She ran through things quickly and efficiently, yet she paused frequently to ensure he understood.

“Okay,” she said, placing the special-order sheet off to the side once she’d finished explaining everything. “Then I’ll start on this portion of the order if you want to do this one?”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Okay, I’ll let you get started. Tell me if you need anything or have any questions.”

Eventually, the two of them fell quiet as they each worked on their part of the order. Adrien could tell Marinette still held a cold shoulder towards him, but it wasn’t so bad as before. And after a while, he decided that maybe he did want to push his luck tonight.

“You hate me.”

Marinette froze, glancing up at him for barely a second before returning to her work. “What makes you say that?”

“You’re really cold towards me.”

She didn’t respond.

He saved her the trouble. “I know it has something to do with Chloe.”

Again, she spared him another glance. “Won’t deny that.”

Adrien paused in his work as he thought about the words he wanted to say next. “I don’t want to force it out of you, but I kinda want to know why.”

“Why does it matter?”

“Because we’re co-workers and your parents are nice, so I thought we could at least get to a place we could cooperate well for the sake of the bakery.”

Marinette took her time thinking about it, turning on the giant mixer she stood by. “Yeah, my parents don’t deserve it,” she eventually whispered before turning to him. “And I know that.”

Adrien dropped the dough in his hands onto the counter. “How about this,” he said, leaning against the counter. “I’ll give you the next 30 seconds to spill any and all your beef with me. I won’t take it personally, and I won’t hold it against you. From what I understand, you and Chloe were practically mortal enemies, and so I can imagine me having been close to her doesn’t endear me to you.”

She huffed, bemused. “Well, you’re right about that.”

“So you can start whenever you’re ready.”

Marinette fidgeted for a moment before glancing into the mixer again to see how the dough was coming along. With a sigh, she turned towards Adrien and slapped her hands against the counter.

The fire in her eyes almost made Adrien regret this decision. Almost. He was both terrified yet turned on.

“Chloe was my school bully for almost every single year of my schooling,” she began, not bothering to hide the bite in her tone. “It is her fault I got my first suspension, and in some way, she was the reason for every one that came after. And then, because of all ofthat drama, I was barred from every single university I thought about attending. And it sucks when the rug is ripped out from under you like that. So forgive me if I’m not so willing to open up to the guy Chloe practically worshiped like a Greek god, because the last person I wanted to have started working here, excluding Chloe, was her lover.”

Adrien froze, listening to those words. They took way too long to register in his head, and when they did, he felt his stomach twist into knots. “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” he cried, backing up and waving his hands before him. “Who are you calling Chloe’s lover?”

“You, of course. Unless you want to deny that.”

“The hell? Yes I want to deny that!” Adrien cried. “No. No no no! What the hell would give you that impression?”

She quirked a challenging brow. “Do you knowhow she talked about you?”

“No, but if the conversation is going to go the way I think it is, I really don’t want to.”

“She constantly was talking about how strong you were,” Marinette said, clearly ignoring him on purpose if that grin and her mocking tone was anything to go by. “As if she had personally run her hands over your body.”

Adrien felt like he was going to be sick.

“And then she talked a couple times about your bedroom and how she was adamant your silk sheets were the most luxurious of any she’s ever known. Oh, and before my thirty seconds are up, I’m going to toss in that she constantly bragged about how you were on her side, and how when you told all your friends about me, they all agreed I was the Queen Bitch of Paris. There, I’m done.”

Unable to do much more than hang his red face in shame, he took a deep breath, trying to collect his thoughts before meeting her gaze again. When he did, the bitter smile on her face proved how much Chloe had hurt her, and used his name to do it. “I am no longer surprised you hate me.”

She just hummed.

“Marinette, I swear on my dearly departed mother’s grave that never happened.”

Marinette looked mildly surprised at his words.

“Really,” he continued. “Chloe and I were childhood friends because our mothers were friends. I never saw her as anything more than that, and I never did… that with her. Never even consideredit. No. Just…” He grimaced at the thought. “No. And secondly, yes, I did hear a lot of stories about you from Chloe. That you were a ‘royal bitch’ and you harassed her and spread all sorts of nasty rumors about her around school.”

Marinette shrugged dismissively. “Well, in the spirit of being honest with you, I won’t deny any of that.”

Adrien paused for a second, surprised at her easy admission, before shaking his head. “And in the spirit of getting along with my co-worker, I’ll let that go. The point I was making was that while I heard all the stories about you, I never told anyone. I don’t really even have anyone I’d consider a friend. Co-worker or acquaintances, sure, but no friends. No, actually…” He held up a finger in realization. “I kinda lied there. I might, in conversation, have complained about Chloe’s constant complaining about some girl harassing her. I’m pretty sure that ended in my co-worker hoping you’d give her more hell because Chloe deserved it.”

Marinette snorted, the corner of her lips quirking up while a mischievous light in her eye twinkled.

Adrien had to take a moment to recollect his thoughts, pulling them away from ‘cute spunky bakery girl’ back to the current topic. “So, uh… there you go. Truth all out on the table. And I’ll work hard to prove that to you if you give me a chance.”

A short silence slipped between the two of them, one only broken by Marinette walking back over to the giant mixer to check on the dough again. She turned it off and pulled the bowl over to the counter. “Well,” she finally said, heaving the giant doughball onto the counter. “I’ll consider your request if you answer one more thing for me.”

A weight he hadn’t realized was on his chest lifted with those words. “Yeah, sure.”

She grabbed a bench scrapper and scale to begin portioning out dough balls. “Why does a model want to work in a bakery, of all places?”

“Normalcy.”

“Normalcy?”

“A life of glitz, glamor, money, fame, and girls throwing themselves at you gets old after a while, especially if you never wanted it in the first place.”

Marinette regarded him with surprise for a moment before she turned back to weighing the dough.

“I wanted out,” Adrien continued. “So, I rebelled a bit until my dad kicked me out. With no obligation to live that life anymore, I get to figure things out on my own. I get to be a regular eighteen-year-old who’s figuring out what he wants to actually do with his life and hold down a real job in the meantime.”

Marinette paused, listening to his words. “So, that’s what this job to you? Real-life experience?”

“Yeah.”

Her lips pursed in thought, but slowly, she nodded. “I can respect that.”

Adrien bit his lip. “So, um… can we call this a truce of sorts? A mutual understanding, maybe? For the sake of working together and your parents’ bakery running smoothly?”

She quirked a brow up at him before sighing. “I don’t think we’ll ever be best friends,” she began. She then extended a hand towards him. “But I guess I can stop acting like a ‘royal bitch’ towards you.”

With a smile, Adrien took her extended hand and shook it. “For the record, I never held it against you, ice princess.”

She scoffed, her lips quirking up to the side. Again, Adrien felt his chest tighten at the sight. “Don’t call me that, or I’ll go right back to ‘royal bitch’.”

He chuckled, a warmth easing though him. “Whatever you say.”

5. Jagged Stone

Help me

Those were the words Adrien mouthed at her as she passed the bakery kitchen.

It was her day off, and when she’d come back home after going out for the day, she’d passed a long line of customers who wanted their baked goods and wanted them now. Her maman looked to be handling things well enough, but then again, Maman was completely unflappable.

Adrien, on the other hand, looked to be drowning in work.

Day off she mouthed back with a wink.

That’s when Adrien had the audacity to look appalled, pantomiming being stabbed through the heart and slowly sinking behind the tall bakery tables.

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. What. A. Weirdo.

Popping back up from behind the table, he shot her a grin that looked a little tired before finishing assembling a tray of goods as quickly as he could.

Deciding she’d take pity on him, Marinette grabbed an apron and tied it around her waist. “I will only assist in icing and bringing goods to the front.”

Adrien’s grin brightened. “Your assistance in any capacity is something I will gladly take.”

After turning off the faucet and shaking excess water from her hands into the sink, Marinette dried her now clean hands and went to work assembling the large pile of macrons. After that large bakery order they had to work together on last month, Marinette had been forced to swallow her pride and eat crow. Adrien wasn’t at all the model Chloe had used to brag about. Instead, Marinette was surprised to find he was actually down-to-earth. While his looks screamed ‘rebel’, he wasn’t a scoundrel. He took care to do his job to the best of his ability and was quick to pick up any new tricks or skills he was taught. For that, Marinette could admit her past prejudice and say he was a good coworker.

He also seemed to open up a bit more to her, as well, slowly exposing the fact he had a decent sense of humor.

No wonder he and her father got along well.

An hour later, the rush had finally died down. Marinette had bounced back and forth between the kitchen and the front, both retrieving pastries and boxing them. Currently, she stood in the kitchen appraising the situation.

“Wow,” she said, taking in the massive amounts of icing, crumbs, and white dust—who knew if it was flour or icing sugar—that covered the kitchen. “This… is a train wreck.”

Adrien simply nodded.

“Well, good luck with that!” Marinette patted his shoulder with a wicked smile before spinning on her heel and heading out of the kitchen.

“Whoa, hey! You’re not gonna help me?”

She looked over her shoulder, unable to keep her grin from widening. “You’re lucky I helped you in the first place.”

Adrien tossed his head back and heaved a sigh. “Fiiine.”

She couldn’t help but laugh as she took off her apron and replaced it on the hook by the kitchen door.

“Hey.”

“Hmm?”

“Thank you for the help,” Adrien said, giving her an earnest smile. “Seriously, you saved my butt.”

If it were her parents, she’d just shrug it off. But this was Adrien, and she found that she quite liked having the upper hand on him. “Maybe I should have told you before,” she began, not bothering to temper her teasing tone as she slowly stepped up to him, “but I don’t do favors for free.”

His grin grew, and his eyes got a little sparkly. He was onto her game, but he looked like he was going to play along. “Yeah? So I’m in your debt now?”

“Mm-hmm,” she said with a smile. “And don’t worry, I’ll be sure to abuse the privilege.”

Adrien laughed. “I’m sure you will, you little minx.”

She shot him a wink before spinning on her heel again and strutting out of the kitchen.

“One last thing before you go?”

She turned towards him, eyebrow raised. “Yeah?”

He pointed at her t-shirt, one she got from the Jagged Stone concert she went to last year with her girl friends. “You have great taste in music.”

She grinned. “Thank you,” she said with a wink. “I’m classy that way.”

6. Anime

“I’m sorry, repeat that for me?”

Adrien chuckled. “What? Don’t you know anime has ridiculous titles at times?”

Marinette gave him a look as though he’d grown a second head before shaking hers. “You know what, no. I don’t even know why I’m surprised. You…” She pointed her finger at him while trying to give him a look, but Adrien could see the hint of a smile on her lips. “You are weird,and I know this about you. Of course, you watch anime over regular tv.”

Adrien scoffed. “Please, regular tv is trash. Anime is an art form.”

Marinette rolled her eyes at him, and he couldn’t help but chuckle. Ever since the night they had to work together to complete a large special order, Marinette had defrosted her icy attitude towards him. While he was thankful because it helped to be on good terms with coworkers, he was rather happy to get to know the girl underneath the cold exterior. She was a natural spitfire, a total tease, and had a great smile he’d do anything to bring out of her. She wasn’t just a pretty face, though he couldn’t deny that he quite liked that, too. If this persisted, Adrien thought she might actually become trouble for his heart.

And times like this made him believe he might just be okay with that.

“You are a regular nerd, aren’t you?” Marinette sassed, grinning as she easily piped the icing on a cupcake.

“Total otaku.”

“I have no clue what that is.”

“If you watched anime, you would know.”

“I’m good.”

Adrien snorted, going back to his own work piping macron cookies onto a baking sheet. After four months of working here, he’d finally gotten the hang of piping perfectly circular and even cookies.

“Honestly,” Marinette continued, not letting up her sass. “I feel like a pair of glasses would suit you better than the rebel look. Pins you for the nerd you are.”

“Aww, but princess—”

“I thought we were over the nickname,” she deadpanned, shooting him an unamused glare.

His grin widened. “Not a chance—there is a rule in anime that guys with glasses are considered hotter.”

Marinette huffed, amused. “Really?”

“Totally.”

“You made it up.”

“No, but it is unofficial.”

“Knew it.”

“But the point stands that you would not be able to handle me in my glasses.”

At that, Marinette raised a brow at him. “You wear glasses?”

He nodded. “I wear contacts here because I don’t want them to fog up in the fridge or steam by the oven or get covered in flour. The point of glasses is to be able to see clearly, and therefore, the purpose is rendered mute if they get dirty in a kitchen.”

“Fair point,” Marinette relented, going back to her cupcakes. “Still don’t believe that glasses automatically make guys hotter. Isn’t it supposed to be the opposite? You whip off the nerd specs and bam!Instant hunk?”

“Tell you what,” Adrien said, putting town the piping bag in his hands so he could fully direct his attention on her. He was finished with the cookies, anyway. “I will come into work one day wearing my glasses, and if you take even a second to stare at me in surprise, you have to watch an anime of my choice.”

Marinette regarded him with a flat look for a minute before that smirk of hers came back. “You’re really working the anime angle, aren’t you?”

“Shamelessly,” he admitted, leaning ever closer to her. “So, what do you say?”

Marinette grinned, eyes gleaming with defiance. “Bring it on. Glasses or no, you’re not getting any reaction out of me.”

Knowing her, that would likely be the case, but deep down, Adrien did hold a little hope that she’d be surprised. He thought he was over wanting attention, but apparently, when it came to her, all rules went out the window.

And at the moment, he found himself perfectly fine with that.

[goodluckdetective]

Fic: Letters to Nowhere 1/3

Ship: Destiel, Sam/Eileen

Fandom: SPN

A03: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27829108/chapters/68131141

Warnings: Grief mostly 

Tags: Angst with a happy ending, angst, found families

Characters: Dean, Sam, Castiel, Eileen, others in passing or in clips

Rating: PG-13

Length: 2k this chapter

Summary:

AU Post Inherit the Earth

After God is defeated, Sam decides to text the one person they're still missing with regular updates. Castiel can read them when he gets back. Because they are getting him back. 

This isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. They’ve lost too much to him as it is. They’ve won: it’s time they feel like it. And act like it too.

Author’s Note:

It’s 2012 again, here’s Wonderwall. 

This fanfic is not canon compliant after “Inherit the Earth” cus this is my city now. It’s been a really long time since I watched Supernatural, let alone wrote fic for it, so this is a bit like getting on an old rusty bike for me. I was dragged in with the news like everyone else, and because I am a firm believer of "fix canon yourself" here I am, writing fic for a fandom I only wrote for twice in my teens. 

I wanted a Destiel reunion as much as anyone, but there are a lot of fics about that with the focus so I wanted to do something that also looked at Sam and Cas’ friendship. So this is a ship fic and a found family fic because I have two hands. I wanted this all to be a one shot, but it's 7K already and that's wild, so multi-chapter here we come. I hope to have this complete by the end of the year with an update weekly.

Fic below the cut:

He sends out the first one on the ride home from what should have been the end of the world with a dog in the backseat and the radio set to blast.

His phone has been beeping non-stop since Jack turned the lights back on. Dean’s too, though he can’t answer since he’s driving. Some messages he gets are from hunters he hasn’t heard from in years, folks he thought might have died on the job. He’s shocked they even remember what happened. The rest of the world didn’t. It’s such a departure from the last times they saved the world with nothing but silence and a new crisis to await them. 

Eileen’s text to him causes his breath to catch. It’s a single sentence.

“This is real.”

If Dean notices him tearing up, he doesn’t mention it. He’s all eyes on the road, heading back to the Bunker like this was a regular job. After fifteen minutes of calls and messages, Sam opens his contacts to reach out to the one number he hasn’t heard from. His thumb lingers over “Castiel” about to press down when he remembers.

He looks to Dean, considering saying something, then decides better of it. The jubilation of their win sours in his head, the reminder that one person isn’t here to see it a depressing note on what should be their happy new beginning. They’d asked Jack to bring Cas back too, of course, but apparently his Godhood has limits when it comes to the empty. All he’d been able to provide them with was some leads to opening a portal and a wish of luck. No angel, no promise of resolution. 

“Chuck would love this,” Sam thinks. “We can never have a victory without a loss to ruin it.”

Rage boils in his gut at the thought. This isn’t Chuck’s story anymore. He doesn’t get to dictate their life as an endless repeating tragedy. They’ve lost too much to him as it is. They’ve won: it’s time they feel like it. And act like it too.

He sends off the first message a few minutes later.

***

Hey man, it’s me, Sam.

I know this is kinda stupid: it’s not like you get bars in the Empty or anything. I don’t expect you to get these there. But when you get back, you should still have your phone (Dean said it went with you) and I plan to keep paying the bill so 1. You don’t have to ask someone for payphone quarters and 2. You can easily catch up on what you missed while you wait for us to pick you up.

We won. We are going to get you out of there. Promise. 

***

So we won. Chuck is human now. Score one for Team Free Will 2.0.

But, Jack is gone. Not dead: he sorta became God. It’s a long story. Anyway, apparently Godhood means an anti-interference policy or something, so yeah he’s gone. I’m sorry you didn’t get to say goodbye.

He’s happy though. Which I guess is what matters, right?

We asked him about getting you back before he went hands off. He said he couldn’t grab you himself (something about the Empty being its own thing who knows) but he gave us some leads to start looking. Good leads too. And we’ve done more with less.

***

Eileen is waiting for them when they get back to the Bunker. Sam almost trips over his own feet to pull her into a hug. She laughs and hugs him back, and Sam was so sure he would only hear that laugh again on his voicemail that he starts crying on her nice jacket. She cries on him too, though Sam’s jacket is so covered in dirt and blood that the tears might actually make it cleaner.

Dean doesn’t say a word, just walks past them and mouths to Sam “I’ll be inside, loverboy” with a wink. The dog follows him. As soon as he vanishes behind the bunker door, Sam pulls Eileen into a kiss that is considered impolite to have in front of your sibling. 

After they’ve both calmed down a fraction, Sam fills Eileen in on what she missed, signing as much as he knows. She looks devastated when he tells her about Cas, and Sam remembers that the two of them were starting to become friends. When he tells her about Jack she asks quite a few follow up questions trying to wrap her head around it all. Sam doesn’t blame her: he’s trying to wrap his head around it too.

“So, is it thank Jack now?” She signs, using the hand sign they came up for Jack’s name. 

“I don’t think he’ll care either way.”

She walks towards the bunker, and Sam keeps step with her so she can see his face. “How’s Dean?”

“I don’t know,” Sam signs. “It’s hard to tell with him.” That feels like a massive understatement. Sam is sure he knows Dean the best out of everyone on the planet, but still his brother manages to surprise him. Sam can read through Dean’s bullshit better than most and he’s faster to get a clue when something is up, but figuring out how Dean is doing often feels like decoding a spell. Sam can get the general idea from just looking at it, but for the particulars, he has to put in legwork to decipher exactly what’s on his brother’s mind. All he knows at the moment is that Dean is not okay. The rest is a guessing game until Sam has more clues or Dean spills his guts.

 They walk into the door and head down the stairs. Sam can see the dog, a giant ball of white fur, running around the wooden table in the middle, tail wagging.

 “The dog is a surprise,” he signs. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Castiel and Jack’s names carved into the table and feels a pang of loss. Eileen walks up to the dog.

“Really?”

“I thought he hated them. They have bad history.” History is perhaps an understatement, but Dean’s trauma from Hell is not his to tell. He reaches down to pet the dog behind the ears and they bark happily.  The dog makes a pitiful noise when Sam stops petting them to sign to Eileen. “I’m going to see where he went.”

Eileen nods, bending down to spoil their new furry friend. Sam heads down the hallway towards Dean’s room. When he doesn’t find him there, somehow, he knows where to look. Dean told him where it happened. Past the bookshelves and the door with Cas’ blood on it is Dean, staring at the wall. His palm is against it, head bowed. 

“Dean?” Sam says, voice soft, trying not to startle. Dean keeps his pose for a second then turns around to take in Sam, a fake smile falling across his face. Sam knows it well: it’s too large, too tight at the edges, and it doesn’t reach Dean’s eyes. It’s the kind of smile they put on to talk to civilians on cases, the one to disarm and encourage the feeling that “everything’s alright.” 

Sam has always hated seeing it directed at him. It’s a clue that translates to “something Dean doesn’t think Sam can fix.”

“Sorry, just taking a minute,” Dean says. He walks past Sam before Sam can say another word. “Do you know if Eileen is hungry? I think it’s time for dinner.”

Sam watches him go then turns back to the wall. He knows the significance of this room without being told, just from the sigil on the door and the upturned books. This was where Castiel died. Where the Empty took him. 

“What the hell happened here?” Sam asks the empty space. He doesn’t get a reply but it’s not like he expected one. He knows Cas can’t hear him, but just in case, he closes his eyes and directs the question as a prayer, though the wording is slightly different.

“Cas, what the hell happened to you?”

***

[A photo is attached of a large white dog with floppy ears, lying on a bed next to a sleeping Dean. Both dog and man are drooling, the latter onto his pillow, the former onto Dean’s shirt. A dog bed rests in the corner of the room, unused.]

So Dean has a dog now. Her name is Miracle. She’s been here for two days and she already runs the place. Dean even let her have some of his bacon. I checked to make sure he wasn’t possessed just in case. He didn’t think it was funny.

I was shocked Dean wanted to keep her. You know how he is with dogs. But he insisted. And I guess it’s working out because well...you can see the picture.

Might start calling myself Uncle Sam to get on his nerves. I’ll report back on how that goes should I survive. 

I’m looking into a book Jack told me to start at. There’s a spell in it, one to summon someone who might be able to help us help you. Don’t worry, no deal making required. 

Hope to see you soon.

***

Dean is the one to tell Claire. Sam offers to do it for him, but Dean blows him off, gets in the Impala and drives down to deliver the news in person. He refuses to let Sam come with.

“This isn’t shit you should hear over a phone,” Dean says. “It’s my fault he’s gone. I should at least tell her myself.”

Sam is on edge the entire time he’s gone. When Dean comes back, he looks like absolute crap, and when he falls back in a chair, Miracle is quick to run to his side and place her head in his lap. Sam watches Dean pet her half heartedly behind the ears.

“That bad, huh,” Sam says. Dean reaches to pet Miracle under her chin.

“Kid lost enough. Don’t blame her for lashing out at the dude who cost her more.”

“Dean it’s not your-”

Dean looks up at him and his expression is stone. Sam’s words die on his lips. He knows better than to try to talk to Dean when he’s like this. Not unless he wants it to go badly. 

This is another clue, he thinks. Dean blames himself for whatever happened and not just in his general “the world is my fault” way. Dean confirms it himself the next second he speaks. 

“You don’t know what happened. And it is. Trust me Sam, it is.” He stands up and pats the dog on her head. “And it will be until we get him back. So any leads?”

Sam takes the distraction, but he makes a mental note not to let the conversation go. For now.

***

[Text is from a number belonging to contact “Claire Novak, FBI Cell”]

Fuck you for leaving me too.

***

Went to clean up your room a bit so it doesn’t get too dusty. Found it already in good shape. I think Dean has been keeping the cobwebs away. He really misses you, you know? He’s taking this...hard. I’m worried. I’m always worried but you know what I mean. 

Also, I saw your collection of IDs. Agent Lizzo? Really? Did anyone buy that? 

When you get back, we should make you some ones with some artists who aren’t as conspicuous as a lie. I’m shocked you didn’t get busted. 

The ingredients for this summoning spell are kind of nuts, and they’re going to take time to gather. I’m using Rowena’s stash to make up most of it, but the real problem is making a lyre out of some petrified wood.  We have to steal some from a National Forest Preserve. It’s an easy heist, but it’s kinda weird to be trying to con just some Park Rangers.

Also, do angels know how to play a lyre or is that just a stereotype? I’ve been up for over twenty seven hours reading this thing and I have to know. Tell me when you get back.

Also, what do you know about Orpheus?