Sam threw the newspaper down in front of Dean, who was eagerly attacking a large cheeseburger.
"Janine Edwards, apparent suicide, sulfur found around the room she died in."
"Demon?" grinned Dean through a mouthful of food, "but it was gone?"
"Yeah," replied Sam, "but this is the interesting bit," he sat down, "the doors were salted but the windows weren't, and I reckon the demon left because of an exorcism."
"So a badly done job by someone who at least partially knows what they're doing" Dean shrugged.
"I'm betting on the daughter," Sam got his phone out, "apparently Cas has met her before and to be honest, I can see why…" he trailed off and showed Dean a picture. It was of her bedroom, a simple room with a single bed and a large bookshelf next to the desk, which was as messy as the floor (very messy) and everything was painted a dark blue, almost black. Except you could barely see the walls because they were papered with drawings. Some were quick sketches, and others were full on canvas paintings. Some were rough charcoal line works, others were detailed pencil drawings. All were of Sam and Dean.
Alyssa sat silently on her bed, staring up at the slowly ticking clock, still in her mourning clothes. The funeral had been hard for her but she hadn't wavered in her stoic emotionlessness. Never letting her true feelings peek through the veil between herself and her sadness.
To pass the time she grabbed the nearest piece of paper she had and a pencil that was about an inch long from so much overuse. Slowly, she shut her eyes as she let the small pain at the back of her head grow into a stabbing crescendo that overwhelmed her mind and with it came the small glimpse into someone else's life. She saw him lying on the floor in a pool of blood, alone in a darkened room. Then it was gone and with it the pain. Shaken and shivering she started to draw…
Later that day, she found herself serving tea to an angel awkwardly perked on the edge of her sofa. Not a situation everybody finds themselves in, but she was working with it. He didn't talk much, as she knew from last time, and he turned down the tea she offered him. He probably knew it was just to put off leaving; to be honest, she was nervous to be meeting the people she'd been dreaming about for the last year.
"So." She said, "to be honest, I never thought I'd see you again."
"It isn't a good thing." He muttered gruffly, looking anywhere but her.
"Right, right," she said, "cause of the whole death and monster thing…" she trailed off, staring at her feet, and couldn't help but think of how tense and awkward it was. She sipped her tea.
A minute went by
"You are not upset?" he asked, "at your mother's death?"
She inhaled sharply and waited a moment before replying; "Yes and… and no. Mostly no." He looked confused. She sighed and continued, "I'm mourning inside but I'm withholding a positive demeanour." She used her mum's phrase.
"Oh." He replied and she hadn't expected anything else. Last time he'd only spoken to the bare minimum, so she could tell it was taking a lot of effort to hold up this conversation. All he'd done is explain why people had tried to kill her and why they had flipping terrifying black eyes, then he'd left.
The silence continued to stretch between them, so she stood up and picked up the bag she'd filled with the things she'd thought she would need (it was surprisingly light).
"Shall we go then?"