They’re working one of those in-between jobs again. It sounds stupid to say they’re basically just filling time, waiting for the apocalypse, but Dea can’t shake the feeling that that’s exactly it.
Hey, beats twiddling your thumbs.
She sent Sam into the dilapidated convenience store, opting instead to sit in the Impala’s driver seat, playing her music louder than her stick-in-the-mud brother would ever tolerate.
The radio crackles once, a loud, drawn-out static, then shuts off. “What the...” she bends over it, half-prepared to run to check on Sammy, when a prickling on her neck causes her to turn around.
She almost jumps through the roof. “Cas! Gimme a little warning next time, will ya?”
He stares at her, as serious and intense as ever. It’s been a bit more than two weeks since she last saw him, and he doesn’t seem to be much worse for wear. His hair is ruffled, maybe he has a shade more stubble, but he’s largely un