Post your three favorite fics of all time you have written for your muse. Give links, a 1-2 sentence summary, and any current season spoilers/warnings that you might need for new readers.

And pass it along!

What Comes First is still one of my favorite prompts, and I think one of the truest to Pam. Or at least, my interpretation of her. It's a formative experience from her childhood when she was first exploring paganism and, though she didn't know it at the time, philosophy too.

Enough is Enough is another canon prompt. Canon-ish. It gives a look into Pam and Jesse and why they broke up. I like it because it doesn't try to demonize Jesse or Pam, or raise either of them up. They're just two people who made mistakes.

Finally - Pam and Cas's first time together. Seriously, if they're going to script Cas having sex, I think it should be with someone he actually cares for. Also, it's adorable.

"A kiss is just a pleasant reminder that two heads are better than one." - Unknown

Date nights were catch as catch could. Which was to be expected when you were dating a police detective, but there were times when he had a stretch of nights where he was more out of the house than in, where Pam spent her evenings nuking leftovers and curling up in bed with a book and an empty feeling and she wished he was home.

Which was why date nights were special, and sacrosanct.

Date nights involved movies, picked by alternating who got to choose, and popcorn, and the couch. Going out was complicated; staying in was simple, especially when it just boiled down to the essentials. Food. Entertainment. Each other.

They always started with his arm around her and her snuggled into his side, feet on the couch, knees pulled up. They often ended with popcorn in his hair or down her shirt. Which he would then have to fish out, of course. There were times when she stood up, paused the movie, and did an absurd little dance that involved shaking her shirt out on her body and stamping up and down and turning in a bouncy circle while he laughed so hard he almost fell off the couch or bonked his head on the arm. Once. That had happened once.

By the time they'd fished the popcorn out they missed the end of the movie, and they'd have to rewind and watch from the last part they remembered. And then they paid attention the second time. And it was midnight by the time that was over, or later if it was a longer movie. By now they were half drowsing and his breath was tickling under her hair and over the back of her neck. Or against her cheek. All she had to do was turn her head.

Always, she did.

Morning would find them still tangled up together on the couch, the morning after most date nights. They didn't usually make it to the bed. Not always stripped down, sometimes date night involved half-awake kissing until lips were tender and swollen and they were both breathless. Just cuddling up on the couch and kissing until they drifted off. Other times... well, other times they didn't make it to the bed for other reasons.

Always, though, date night involved a lot of cuddling and a lot of kissing. Salty, popcorn-flavored, sometimes beer-flavored kisses. Soft ones that lingered on the mouth as the credits rolled. Light ones over the top of the head or the forehead in between scenes. Afterwards, long kisses, deep, pressing mouths together while they worked on pressing other body parts together in ways that fit just as well. Any way they could be together. For the few hours of date night, the time was theirs.

"When the designs are chosen with care, tattoos have a power and magic all their own. They decorate the body but they also enhance the soul." - Michelle Delio

It only took two sessions. Maybe she shouldn't have been surprised at that; it wasn't a very big tattoo. It felt larger than it was in her mind because of who it represented. Now the last of him was being erased from her life, and she wondered what he would say if he ever found out.

She booked the appointment the next day.

Not that she was supposed to. One of those things. You weren't supposed to get fresh ink on top of freshly lasered skin, but she had good skin, and, hell. For all she knew the world might not be there tomorrow. This was something she wanted to have, if nothing else, to remember it by. To remember him. To have this, what was between them, written into her like magic. Well. It was a kind of magic, wasn't it? One of the oldest kinds of magic she knew. Just like what was between them. The oldest kind of magic that she knew.

It itched. She had Paul oil it up afterwards, put on the bandages, but it still itched. The next day she finally got tired of being dirty and went and showered, as gentle as she could manage. The warm water was nice against her skin, soothed the worst of the itch away. She wrapped her arms loose around herself and stood under the water and smiled. It was well done, she thought.

He came in while she was stepping out of the shower.

"I..." Oops. At least, that was what his voice sounded like, very oops. Startled and embarrassed. Pam grinned. "Er. I will wait outside."

"You don't have to, you know," she called back over her shoulder. Jeans and underwear, not in that order of course, but she'd left her shirt in the bedroom. So he got an eyefull of her toweling her hair off anyway. Brushing it back and pulling it into a ponytail for a little bit. Then turning to rummage around in her dresser for a bra and t-shirt. "I don't mind," she pointed out. Which was obvious.

He nodded. He didn't seem to mind either, now that the first moment of walking in on her was over with and they were just two people standing in a room. Two people who knew each other well, who were comfortable around each other. Who might, in a more normal world, have been lovers. In a way, really, they were.

That thought made her smile.

"Pamela?" His voice was startled, more abrupt and quick than usual. She turned around, still in the process of slipping her bra on, and gave him a questioning look. "You changed..."

"Yes." Ah, he'd seen. She grinned at him, for all the hesitancy and high-school nervousness in her eyes. "Do you like it?"

His fingertips brushed around the edges of the fresh ink. The subtle itching feeling she hadn't noticed in comparison with the pre-shower irritation faded away. "I do."

"Good." Pam leaned up to brush her lips over his. In this moment, right now, she would take that initiative. "Good. I'm glad."

"Luke, I got a bad feeling about this."

"Huh?"

"Nothing."

Cas's kitchen was mostly done, although Pam was still nervous about cooking in it. Mostly in case she broke something or got something dirty that shouldn't be, though she hadn't yet. The cabinets still needed knobs, a couple of things still needed to be finished, but it was functional. Which meant Pam could make lunch for herself and Sam while they waited for word to trickle in.

Burgers. Fries. And a side of green beans steamed with garlic and ginger because it was good for them to eat healthy, especially Sam. Who looked like he could use a hot meal or ten. She sat him down at the table and set the plate in front of him. "Eat."

Sam gave her a dubious look. "Yes ma'am."

She tried to eat some herself, too. Really, she did. And when she couldn't, she assuaged her guilt by reminding herself that she wasn't the one who was recovering from a serious addiction and God knew what else, either. Sam kept his eyes on his plate, ate prison style, back hunched and arms folded in on himself. He looked like a skeleton.

Pam hadn't said anything because she didn't have an alternative, but she was wondering if making Sam fix up the house with him was the right thing for Cas to do. On the one hand, it kept the poor kid out of trouble. On the other hand, he looked as if a stiff breeze would blow him over, and his appetite was mediocre at best. There had been a handsome young man in there, once. She could see it in his bone structure and the way he moved, the way he should have been moving. But now his hair was either greasy or dry and brittle, his eyes sunken. His nails were yellowed and cracked sometimes, and she had to loan him her lotion for his skin. She could see the tiny bones in his wrists, his hips, too, when his jeans hung low on him.

Making Cas eat when a case was eating him up was hard enough. Making him eat, reminding him to sleep, shoving glasses of water in his hand. Making Sam eat was mostly a matter of dragging him bodily down, sitting him at the table, and glaring at him until he finished what was on his plate. And then listening to make sure he didn't throw up afterwards, from nerves or whatever. As long as it wasn't from over feeding. She tried to pay attention to make sure that didn't happen.

Your thoughts are going in circles, kiddo. Pam sighed, took her dishes to the sink. She was worried. Hell, she was downright scared, and it was making her fussy. "I got that," she told Sam, as he loomed quietly behind her with his own dishes. "You go rest, or finish whatever Cas has you working on now. Sanding, wasn't it?"

"Yeah," he nodded, ducking his head a little.

"Hey." Pam reached up, touched his cheek. "Look at me, would you?"

He did. It wasn't even like he was trying to avoid looking at her or avoid her gaze, he just did. Hunched over, expecting bad things to come descending on him like opening up an overstuffed closet. An overstuffed closet full of skeletons.

"It's going to be okay," she told him, at least as much to reassure herself as for Sam's sake. "I promise. Cas'll be back soon, and he'll get your brother out of there, and this'll all be over. The bad guys will be in jail and we'll have our people back."

Sam nodded, made some sort of noise of agreement.

"So, cheer up, emo kid, okay?" And she opened her hand above his neck and dropped the ice cube from her tea down the back of his shirt.

Sam yelped. Jumped. "Christ, Pam!" She scooted out of his way and leaned against the counter while Sam wriggled and jumped around, trying to get it out of the back of his shirt. "What did... augh!" From the way his hands moved down to his waist, it had gone down the back of his pants.

"I'd fish that out for you," she said, managing not to laugh although she couldn't quite keep a straight face. "But I don't think Cas would like me having my hands down another guy's pants..."

He just glared at her. Finally there was a more wet thud than a clatter, and the remnant of the ice cube slithered out his left pant cuff. "Happy, now?" he muttered. "Now I have to go change..."

"I'll clean up the water," she told him, chuckling, now. "You go upstairs, get changed, work on the floor. And..." Her expression turned serious. "Try not to think about it so much. It'll be okay, but it's easier if you don't think about it."

He gave her an unreadable look and headed up the stairs.

Pam did clean up the water, and then turned and bonked her head lightly off the cabinet door a couple of times. That had been ... well, at least lunch had gone over well. But she was crap at getting Sam to do anything other than what he was assigned to do, talk in monosyllables. And she was crap at just sitting around and waiting, and she'd been kicked out of the lab already for fussing.

"Dammit, Cas," she sighed, flopping back down at the lunch table. "You better come home safe..."

"True love is when you put someone on a pedestal, and they fall - but you are there to catch them." - Unknown

And things had been going so well.

Everyone knew. Their co-workers knew, even if the glances and smiles weren't enough to clue them in the stealing kisses in alcoves and corners would have done it. They managed it a few times without being caught. They settled down after the first few months, but there were still touches. Brushing the backs of their hands as they walked along the more crowded hallways. A hand on a knee, a kiss on the forehead. Little gestures that were more than just friends. Dean, in particular, teased them both mercilessly.

But there hadn't been any of that for weeks now. Instead there had been silence, terse commentary, no going out bowling, no dinners. She brought take-out a couple of nights when he started looking ragged and as though he hadn't eaten or shaved, but never stayed too long. He didn't want to talk to her. His answers to her questions were as clipped and short as he could make them. He didn't ask her anything, not even how her day went. Not how the bowling team was doing in his absence. Not how the Sisters were doing. Nothing.

( Read more... )

"Dean is way too smug about this."

He almost cracked a smile. "He believes it is important."

Pam shook her head, not even bothering to hide a smile. "He does. It isn't as important, isn't nearly as important as he thinks it is, but he does like it."

"I have noticed."

( Read more... )

"If you woke up one morning and found me in your bed, what's the first thing you'd think or say?"

Take care of someone when they're sick

They had just gone through this with John. Not this bad, but they had fretted and worried their way through his first colds, his first fever, hovering over him like, well. Like overprotective parents. Pam had expected to go through this with Ester, too, but not this way.

Premature babies lived more often these days, they said. This was one of the best hospitals for neonatal intensive care, they said. That meant very little when Pamela and Cas both were aware of how fragile life was, how fragile babies were, and how quickly things could change in a heartbeat.

They hovered. The doctors were, thankfully, used to this, and accommodated them by giving them hotel recommendations for quarters right across from the hospital, listening to their endless lists of questions and worries, assuaging what fears they could. Pam and Cas hovered outside the window, trying not to press their palms to the glass, clinging to each other. Food was picked at in the cafeteria but neither of them had much of an appetite. Cas went home every day, every couple of days, to check on John and give him a night at home instead of at Uncle Bobby's. Pam stayed in the hotel or the hospital and did not leave the corridor created by the two buildings. There was only so much they could do.

Nights were the worst. Pam was afraid to go to sleep, afraid to dream the death of her newborn daughter, afraid that something would happen and by the time she was awake and over to the hospital ... afraid it was her fault. She was too old to have children, healthy children, she had had a glass of wine or three during the whole pregnancy, she worried too much when Cas was out on a hunt. High blood pressure. Too much activity. Too much energy coursing through her veins, not that she could tell the doctors that. Cas held her, stroked her hair till she fell asleep (or more like passed out), but it didn't diminish the impressions of guilt. More often he was asleep before she was, albeit possibly by bare minutes.

"Pam..." They stood in the foyer of their tiny hotel room, ready half an hour before visiting hours, Cas between her and the door. He brushed her hair back from her face, hands gentle and cupping her cheek, her shoulder. "You need to stop this."

"But what if..."

"What if isn't what is. There was nothing you did wrong, nothing you could have done better. Trust me, okay?" Faint smile there, bruises under his beautiful blue eyes and cheeks sunken enough to notice, but he smiled anyway. "Trust in Him. Or Her," he added, and she wrinkled her nose at him, feeling hot tears start down her cheeks again as she smiled. "Or both?"

"Both," she managed, before she had to swallow back the sob. "It can't hurt to appeal to both, right?"

They were in the chapel a few days later. The nightmares hadn't stopped, had gotten worse, and by now she was praying to anyone who would listen. Which was funny, in the few moments when she stopped to think about it. She hadn't been much of a generally praying for things person. She was independent. Confident. She fixed the problems she could, bore up with the ones she couldn't. Except this. She didn't know how to bear up through this. Cas, in a show of infinite patience, had taken her to the chapel to try and help her deal with the helplessness. If she hadn't known he was an angel, she said, he would have been her angel then. He would always be her angel, he told her, and kissed her.

"Excuse me?" the nurse poked her head in. "Dr. Ericson would like to see you..."

Pam didn't let go of her death grip on Cas's sleeve until they were seated in the doctor's office. She could feel the tears starting in her eyes, blinked them back. They didn't even know what was wrong this time.

"I'll say this first, and then..." By reflex he put the tissue box in front of them. Cas reached out and pressed one into her hand. "We can discuss the specifics. But I think, cautiously, that we're seeing a change for the better. She's off the respirator..."

She actually felt her heart squeeze at that.

"... and, if Ester continues to improve at this rate, she should be able to go home in a matter of weeks."

Pam burst into tears.

"You look like shit."

Pam was speaking into a phone connected to a barrier between her and the man she had never expected to see again. Between them was a panel of wire and glass, bordered on either side by two panels of plastic. She had seen this kind of thing in movies, but always figured her odds of actually encountering one were slim.

( Read more... )

It's the DVD commentary meme! Pick a fic, any fic, and I will write you a DVD commentary-style edition for it. You can do it at my lj (kittydesade) too.

She knew it was a bad case when he turned up at her door late that night, sweaty and still in his work clothes. Word had trickled down to the labs that they'd have incoming to process, but for tonight she and a couple of the others had the night off. One veteran to supervise, and the rest of the newbies got to sort through the evidence and start the testing. Pam was free to go home and rest up for an early roll-out tomorrow morning.

Resting up didn't seem to be in the cards. She looked through the peephole, caught a glimpse of red-rimmed blue eyes, and scrabbled to open the door. "Cas? Baby, you okay?"

He shook his head.

( Read more... )

"Before I met my husband, I'd never fallen in love. I'd stepped in it a few times.">

Apparently being psychic, resurrected, and watched over by angels did not make her immune from getting the flu. The first time she noticed was when the headache came up, not a psychic overload type headache, but a dull throbbing headache that implied she would soon be scrambling for tissues. It gave her enough warning to go out and stock the house with tissues, juice, and aspirin before the fever struck.

She forbid Remiel from healing her magically until it became obvious that it was something potentially bad, like swine flu or something. He had other tasks to do, other things to expend his energy on, and she didn't need to be bogging him down by letting him fuss over her. After about an hour of arguing he finally agreed to go and be useful elsewhere, and she was able to bundle herself up in bed with a box of tissues to hand and a pitcher of water, a smaller glass of orange juice and a stack of secondhand novels she hadn't read yet. At least there was that; she could catch up on her leisure reading. It had been a while since she had been able to read anything for fun.

The sound of wings made her open her mouth to tell Remiel off, until her chin tipped slightly to one side, head cocked as though listening. "Castiel."

"Pamela."

( Read more... )

Because clearly I don't have enough to do. And Pam is proposing a threesome with Dean for some reason.

Pick a Pam! I will drabble!

. Playful!
2. Murderous!
3. Flailing!
4. Incarcerated!
5. Deviant!
6. Ill!
7. Intoxicated!
8. Wildly Inappropriate!
9. Eloquent!
10. Cooking!
11. Naked!
12. Bitchy!
13. Inexperienced!
14. Young!
15. Long-winded!
16. Bored to tears!
17. Jealous!
18. Inquisitive!
19. Confused!
20. Arrogant!

"Enough is enough">

"Enough," she said, proud of the fact that her voice was strong and didn't tremble. "Enough is enough."

Jesse's face did several things at once, conveying at the same time that he was hurt by her ultimatum and that he thought she was being unreasonable and that he regretted ever having taken up with this crazy bitch. The last part might have been her imagination, but she didn't think so. Some of what they'd been yelling at each other the past few days had had bite behind it.

( Enough )

They stopped in front of her door, as was traditional. Somehow she'd known he wouldn't come in on the first date.

But, you know. That was fine. They'd had a good first date, probably the best first date she'd had in a hell of a long time. If ever. Simple, nice. Great food; she'd have to remember that place. They'd managed to get to talking, too, instead of just sitting there awkwardly half-smiling at each other and half looking away and blushing. Managed to get past the whole first stage where they both started talking at once and fell over each other trying to let the other one go first.

It was cute. It was adorable, and it made her laugh. She hadn't felt this relaxed in a long time, and it felt good.

And now they were stopped in front of her door, with the usual I had a good time conversation, inane and safe. They'd spent a lot of time on safe in the past couple hours. Safe, but fun. Peaceful. Nice.

"So..." she said slowly, venturing a little bit outside of the realm of safe but she was curious. "So, just... tell me one thing. Why did it take you so damn long to ask me out?"

He did blush, at that, and looked down. Her fingers curled around his a little, just to be sure that he didn't take it as some kind of slight or threat. She was just curious. It wasn't a rejection, it wasn't a way of saying he'd taken too long.

"I was nervous," he shrugged, still looking down but she watched his lips curve up into a bit of a smile. He had the absolute cutest smile ever. It made his eyes light up, made her want to smile back for him. "I wasn't sure... I mean..."

"You thought I'd say no."

"Well. Yeah."

Her fingers curled a little tighter around his as she both tugged him closer and stepped into him, not really thinking about it. Reflexive action. "You're such a..." she stopped herself just in time. No, Pam, don't call the adorably nervous man a dork. "... goofball." Which made him blush, and proved her point. "I mean, I sent out enough signals. I thought..."

Which made him blush further, possibly because he hadn't noticed. Or even if he had noticed he hadn't been sure. Or even if he'd known and been sure he hadn't been sure of himself enough to... oh hell with it.

"I wasn't..."

"It's okay..."

And they were talking at the same time. Again. Pam covered his mouth with her hand so she could get the words out because if she didn't, she was half convinced there would be no more repeats of this. "It's okay. I mean... This. I had fun. I liked this." Way to go, Pam. "Just don't take so long on the second date, 'kay?" She dropped her hand, grinning.

"'kay," he grinned back. And then they were stuck, holding hands, grinning goofily at each other in front of her door.

They didn't quite crack foreheads, but there was definitely some bumping of noses going on. They moved in at the same time again, this time stopped by the quiet giggling and mutual shyness. Awkwardness. She wasn't shy, she was just a little bit awkward from being rusty at never having dated on god he really was right there, wasn't he. She could feel the heat of his breath.

They kissed. It was that simple. And it wasn't simple at all, really. It started out when she didn't expect it and it was soft and shy and her heart was beating a mile a minute and she had to breathe. Except she was breathing. She could taste his breath and his arms were warm and tight around her and she was definitely dizzy. And they were still kissing. And they had been kissing and she hadn't committed it to memory and this was one first kiss she never. Ever. wanted. to....

She could breathe again. He had gorgeous eyes. They didn't leap apart, they didn't even really separate, just sort of stood there for a moment clinging to each other as though they both were afraid to let go of the emotions they'd found themselves overflowing with in the midst of strange coincidences and morbid cases. She'd never expected to find this. Not at work. Not with him. And she didn't want to let him go.

"See you at work," she heard herself saying, but she didn't let him go.

Cas nodded slightly, pink cheeks, bright blue eyes. Bright smile. "See you..."

Pam made herself let go because if she didn't she was going to drag him inside and induce a make-out session that would leave them both with bruised lips and gasping for breath. She backed up a step or two against the door, one hand fumbling at the knob. Watching, grinning, as he sort of backed up as well and waves and until he was out of sight. And then, finally, she could go in and do her little dance of jumping up and down in a circle and punching the air in victory. "YES!"

It was hard, and getting harder. Going to bed every night with the starlight on her skin and the prayers on her lips, please let him be safe. Please let us all come out of this all right, as all right as we can. Goddess guide him and keep him. Goddess, give us grace.

It was hard, and she didn't complain -- too much -- because she knew there was no way for any of this to be easy. Remiel was around less now, but his visits seemed to have bottomed out at two or three times a week and every time he appeared he looked more grave. More worried. He didn't smile anymore, and she was a little surprised to find that she missed that. Not too much. He'd become a good friend to her in the time he'd been taking care of her since her reappearance. Rebirth. Something.

( Read more... )

"You're such a pain in the ass..."

"Yeah, yeah, yeah. You're only saying that because it's true."

It was true. And by now probably everyone else in the lab had also noticed her tendency to eschew close personal contact with Dean Winchester in favor of calling his smaller, quieter partner down to the lab for information. This was all right as long as they thought she was doing it because she didn't want to be drooled over, until someone realized how she behaved with Dean when she was upstairs. Which was to say, flirting right back with no visible intent to follow through.

That had led Jimmy to conclude that she was interested in Detective Devine, which conclusion he had never let her forget. Every now and again he could make her blush with it, and that didn't help her protest that it was just because she didn't want Dean distracted when she was trying to explain something to him or some equally ridiculous excuse.

Because it was totally an excuse. She didn't even want to admit it to herself, that she just wanted to see more of the cute, shy detective, but it was true. She couldn't help it. He smiled, and she smiled back. Like reflex.

"You're thinking about him now, aren't you."

She balled up her microfiber cleaning cloth and pitched it at his head. "Shut up! Go, um. Go run some DNA samples or something."

Which was, of course, when the computer chimed at her that the ballistics results were back. Jimmy was still snickering and shaking his head as she flounced over to her machine and scanned through the data. "Oh. Ohhhhh. Oh!"

"I'm going to take away your batteries if you don't..."

"That's a sex-harassment suit waiting to happen and, and..." she bounced on her toes, finger stabbing at the screen. "We got it. We got it!"

And then she booked it for the phone as he came up to check out her results. "Hi, hi, Winchester, send Cas down here, I got his results back."

"Cas? Not Dean?"

Pam waited until she was off the phone to give him the finger. "Shut up!"

She knew what he was going to say the moment he appeared. She just knew. No psychic flash or future vision, no phantom sensation. She knew. She read it in his face.

Before he could open his mouth she went for the liquor cabinet.

"Pamela..."

"Don't." One hand up to stop him, one hand up to reach for the whiskey. "Don't, Remiel. Unless I'm mistaken and you haven't come here to tell me..." The bottle almost slipped from her fingers. She swallowed. Saying the words would make it real, and she desperately didn't want it to be real right now. "If you've come here to tell me something else, then tell me. Otherwise, just... don't."

He didn't. She didn't pour the drink either, because the simple fact that he didn't say anything meant that she was right. And he was...

"Dammit!" Glass shattered. Pamela threw things when she was mad, it was a bad habit. In this case it was a bottle of really expensive whiskey now dribbling down her wall, pooling with the shards of glass on the floor. "Goddammit." Screw angel sensibilities. He was dead, and she was going to cuss all she wanted to. "God-fucking-dammit..."

Her fingers curled into fists. The gems and insignia on her rings pressed into her forehead. Tears poured down her face, some down her cheeks, some into her mouth. Salt and congealing moisture. She crumpled, shoulder into the edge of the counter, then on her knees on the kitchen floor.

"No..." she swallowed the words and they came burbling out, thick. "No, no, please..."

"I'm sorry..." Remiel's voice was much closer, now, and his broad shoulders took the weak attempt at pummeling from her fists. "Pamela..."

"No!" But it wasn't a shout. It wasn't much of one, anyway. "No, why? Why now, why him, why..."

"It was an ambush. They ..." he stopped. Weeks, months of being around Pamela had taught him something at least. She wasn't interested in that why. "I don't know. But he was a soldier. He knew the risks and accepted..."

"Oh, fuck the risks," she snarled, shoving him over. "Fuck that, fuck this war, and..." and this would have been the part where she stood and stepped away except that her stomach was twisting itself in knots. Her head was pounding already, she needed a drink. She needed something.

She needed him to appear, to swoop in between one breath and the next with the sound of wings as he always had, and put his arms around her and tell her that he was all right. Except he wasn't.

He was dead.

"No..." Tears again. "No, Rem, he can't be, he can't..." She couldn't stop crying. She couldn't stop babbling denials. She didn't know what else to do, it hurt so much and the pain kept welling up and dripping out in the strangest ways possible. Shaking. Nausea. More tears. "He can't..."

"I'm sorry."

"Cas..." Now she was crouched on the floor, rocking back and forth. Arms wrapped around herself, black painted nails digging into worn black cotton. "Cas..."