Chapter 2: That's How it Happens

Words: 5,652

Castiel pointed her out, behind the hotel front desk. "That's Theresa."

The first time I saw Theresa Callan, she had a purple and yellow scarf wrapped around her head, a sheer thing that allowed her dark brown hair to spill out and cascade down over her shoulders. I know that sounds cornball, hair cascading, but that's really what it did, in waves. She had this spunky sort of look to her, with a little button nose and a smirky grin - you know how some women have that look that tells you they take no shit? Theresa totally had that look. She was wearing the standard dress shirt, blazer, and skirt of a hotel front desk clerk, but her takes-no-shit face really made her stand out for me. The scarf couldn't be part of her standard uniform, though. I asked Castiel, "Why's she wearing the headscarf?"

"To hold on the wig."

"Wig? She's wearing a wig?"

"Yes. The radiation treatments... the chemo..."

So the cascading hair wasn't her own.

Cas added, "That's her natural hair color, though."

Confused, I asked, "Why is she having chemo and radiation treatments, Cas? You said she didn't really have cancer."

He wobbled on his feet a little, eyelids fluttering.

"Oh, gosh... should I get the hotel room?"

The angel recovered, holding onto a post for balance. "Not just yet. I'm... I'm okay."

"Well, give me the short explanation so we can check in already."

"Theresa doesn't know for sure that she's been made sick by a demonic spell. There are bad feelings, half-glanced shadows on the wall... the average person suspects they are being stalked by demons and that to think such a thing, they must be crazy. But then the priest of her church comes to her and says he thinks her child is in danger from evil forces. Theresa takes his advice, she sends Paul away for protection, and she doesn't discuss what may be happening to her. Perhaps it's for the best that someone look after her child for a while anyway, as she's been feeling very, very ill for months now.

"Imagine you are Theresa. You go to your doctor, and he says it's a brain tumor. You should start treatment right away. But you are unsure. What if your bad feeling about being besieged by demons is correct? What if the doctor is correct?"

I had begun to nod before he finished his sentence. "I'd cover all my bases, just to be safe," I replied.

"Yes. Like her son, Theresa is a devout Catholic, so she prays every day, and she has her cancer treatments. To, as you say, 'cover all' her 'bases.'"

"That poor woman," I said. "She's just doing damage to her body to fight tumors she doesn't even have. Cas, can't we tell her? Theresa could stop having the treatments and concentrate on the praying if we - "

He cut me off. "No, Sam. Any mention of what's really happening to her will bring the demons right to her. You must remember that."

I nodded my head in understanding. "Okay," I said with a sigh. It really bothered me, the thought of someone going through a tough thing like chemotherapy and radiation when they didn't have to. That's such a hard thing, to keep your mouth shut for someone's own good when you know telling them the truth could be in their best interest as well.

We watched her from across the lobby for a bit. After a short time, I noticed that Castiel was now leaning his upper body against the post, eyes closed, looking very out of it. I insisted I just check in already. "Okay, Cas, I got this. I'm ready to interact with her."

"Don't blow it," he said, which made me turn back to him for a moment and laugh. He must've gotten that from Dean.

When she smiled up at me, eyes going a little wide for a second, my mind wouldn't make words. Theresa was so beautiful to me. Not an obvious beauty like a model, but a quiet one, like a regular girl you'd meet on the street, at the mall, in high school. I felt such sympathy and desire for her at the same time. To be dealing with all she was dealing with... she had to be strong. That strength only made her more attractive.

"Hello, sir, and welcome to The Millstone," she said. "Would you like to check in?"

"Uh..." My mind, words, not happening at first. Castiel's warning played through my head. "Don't blow it." It seemed to snap me out of it. "Uh, yeah! Yeah, I'd love to check in. Or, I want to check in, to get a room. Yes. Ahem." That's about how I sounded. Ugh.

I could hear Dean in my head, going, "Smooth, Sammy. Smooth."

Theresa grinned like she was amused with me and asked, "A single?"

For a second, I looked around for her computer, but of course, she was working from a ledger. It was going to be tough to get used to the 1970's lack of technology. "No, I'm staying with my friend there." I hooked a thumb behind me at Cas, still leaning on the post.

She looked at Cas, and then back at her ledger. "Then you'll want two beds?"

"No, just one. Queen size is fine." Hey, angels don't sleep. And guys named Sammy sometimes need a brain transplant.

One eyebrow raised, Theresa looked at me quizzically, and said, "Okay," like she found my choice of sleeping arrangements to be questionable.

What she must be thinking... it hit me then. "Oh, uh, my friend there, he, he won't be there much. Just a business associate... always in and out. We don't even sleep at the same time."

"Oh," she said, writing in her ledger. Then she gave me a coy look and we both started snickering.

That's how it happens, you know. How you realize you're attracted to someone, that you have chemistry.

I rolled my eyes. "It saves money. I'd really like to get him up to the room right now - "

"Oh?" Theresa said again, putting a lot of comical emphasis into it.

Giving her a scolding look, I said, "You didn't let me finish."

She chuckled and waited for my full reply, smirking at me.

"My friend there has been drinking a little too much. He needs to go to bed." Then I added, "Alone."

"Oh, did he have a few too many martinis with lunch?"

"You could say that."

Grinning, Theresa put the ledger on the counter in front of me. "You'll be in room 208. Just sign here and pay $20 up front."

I didn't see any reason not to sign my real name. Once I'd handed over the money, she gave me two keys, and took back the ledger, reading it. "Let me know if you need anything, Mr. Winchester."

I mirrored the smile that she gave me. "Thank you, Theresa. You can call me Sam, if you want." Just hoping that didn't sound all lecherous. It always bothers me at times when I work an honest living that people will read my name tag and use my first name just because it's right there before their eyes. Too personal.

Didn't seem to bother her, though. "Alright, Sam. I'll see you around."

We kept looking at each other as I walked away, continuing to smile like idiots and chuckle giddily. I draped one of Cas's arms over my shoulders and walked him to the elevator. In my head, I was wondering if she ever liked to be called Terry, or if it was always Theresa. By the time we got to the room, Cas was bleeding from the mouth.

He was unconscious when I laid him out on the bed. First, I got a hand towel, wet it, and cleaned off his mouth. Then I took Cas under the arms and dragged him up the mattress until his head was on the pillow, and removed his shoes so he'd be more comfortable. If angels even need to be comfortable. While my mind began scheming over how I was going to accomplish my task, I rolled Castiel on his side and started to take off the trench coat and suit coat with it.

"Didjou meet 'er?" he slurred.

Oh, he was slightly awake. "Yeah. I think she likes me already."

"Good." Cas didn't react much to me taking off his coats; he was pretty out of it.

I offered an explanation anyway. "I thought you'd be more comfortable without all these coats on."

"Okay," he said, and seemed to pass out again.

Once the two coats were laid out over the back of a chair, I sat down to catch my breath. Castiel's vessel isn't a large man, but rolling him around on the bed to get a coat off of him isn't the easiest work either. Especially when he's like a rag doll. First, I should make a chart of what I know, I thought. That's what we usually did, chart out everything we knew about a case. Then -

Castiel interrupted my thoughts with one more remark. "Don't buy anything," he said. "Not yet."

That made my heart skip a beat. "Buy anything?"

Cas was out again. I got up and leaned over him, putting my hand on his chest and giving it a little shake.

He wouldn't respond.

Then it hit me. I went into my wallet and started looking at the bills.

Series 2006. Series 2006. Series 2006. They all had a recent year on them. "Oh, crap," I said out loud.

Surely, the bill I had given Theresa had a recent year on it too. Only for her, it would be a year in the future.

As I brooded in my chair for a while, I hoped she wouldn't look at the twenty too closely. It could ruin everything.

Castiel woke up around dinner time. He found me studying my chart, which I'd made out of several sheets of hotel stationary, taped together on the wall. "Was I out long?"

Looking at him, I said, "About four hours."

He sat up. "That long?" Cas stood and crossed to where I was standing. "What have you made here?"

"A chart. It's what we know about Theresa and her son so far."

"Hm." Castiel read over my chart.

Paul Callan, born to Theresa Callan and Deadbeat Dad, 1973.

Theresa dies, early 1978

Paul is 5

Theresa - Catholic, attends church with Father Calero

Calero has the healing rosary

Do NOT mention Paul or true cause of illness!

There were a few other minor details about Theresa written there, things I wanted to remember to make it easier for me to work my way into her life. Of course, it would be a lot more pleasant a task if she actually liked me, and I liked her. At the time, I wasn't thinking at all what would happen once this was over if we had developed real feelings for each other. All I could think about was how spunky and cute she was. "And I can hide it behind the curtain. See?" I had put the chart between two narrow windows; the drapes went across both windows and the wall between them, so they hid my chart nicely.

"Very good. Anything new we learn, we add it to the chart. Now, let me see all the bills in your wallet."

"Oh, you're worried about the year on them, aren't you?"

"Yes..." Castiel took the dollar bills I handed him.

"I already paid with a twenty from 2006. Do you think it will cause a problem? Because I bet they'd believe the bill was misprinted."

"Or they'll think you're a counterfeiter." Waving his hand over each bill, Castiel whispered something in Enochian. When he handed them back to me, they all said Series 1968 on them.

"Well, at least it was just one bill. I can probably con my way out of one misprinted bill," I assured him.

Castiel nodded and gave me a slight smile. "If you have to."

"Yeah. Maybe they didn't notice it." I checked my watch. "It's about dinner time. Maybe I can catch Theresa before she leaves for the night, invite her out to eat."

"Sam, there's something else you need to know about her."

"What?"

"Do you know what an empath is?" he asked.

I knew a little about it. "That's a person who can sense how other people are feeling just by being near them, or by forging a psychic link with them."

"Yes." Although I should have followed his line of thinking, what Cas said next still came as a surprise to me. "Theresa Callan is an empath."

"Oh... okay."

"You must be careful around her, Sam. If you're not, she may sense that you have an ulterior motive. Make yourself believe that you're not acting here, that you really want to spend time with Theresa, or she may never trust you." He noticed that I was smiling down at my feet. "What?"

"Uh... that won't be a problem, because I really do want to spend time with her," I admitted sheepishly. "She's pretty cute."

Cas furrowed his brow. "Tread lightly here, Sam. Her empathy is projective as well."

"Projective?"

"We don't know how strong she is, but we do know that she has some projective ability. It's like being around someone who is in a very good mood, and you start to feel happy too. But a projective empath is much better at it than that. Theresa may be able to affect your emotions quite strongly. In fact, some projective empaths can attack you on a psychic level, forcing emotions on you that you had no intention of feeling."

That was troubling. "Is that something she could do without me knowing?"

"You? No. You would know, because you have latent psychic ability as well. The average person would have no idea, but you... that's part of the reason why you're perfect for this job," Cas explained.

Ah, it seemed the pieces were falling into place. "So she couldn't have made me feel attracted to her without my knowledge."

Castiel shook his head. "No. But Theresa's abilities could enhance your general mood."

Maybe that explained why we'd both become so giddy in each other's presence. Her attraction, my attraction, all reverberating between us like sound off acoustical tile. "I understand."

"Then let's get going."

On my way down to the lobby, I wondered if her being an empath had anything to do with her son becoming so important to the world. I concluded that it probably did. Theresa was special; she produced a special child.

And of course, as I would find out, Paul's father had something to do with that as well.

The hotel had a theme. It was called The Millstone; there were millstones everywhere, in the lobby, out front, all engraved with the name of the hotel. They were sort of like statues, made of tan and white speckled marble. I stood and looked at the one near the front desk, in the middle of a large fountain with plants and flowers around it, and thought how much more attractive the whole scene would be if it wasn't surrounded by a lobby done in those horrible 1970's colors. I mean, avocado green chairs? Burnt orange and brown diamonds painted on the walls in between typical hotel lobby paintings? Who decided on this decorating scheme, demons? They must've possessed a bunch of interior decorators and had a good laugh at our expense once it caught on. Absolutely hideous.

There was a different clerk behind the front desk. I hoped Theresa hadn't left already.

In a decorative window leading into the lounge and bar, I saw a sign that read BUSBOY WANTED. APPLY WITHIN. If I could get that job, it'd be perfect - not only would I have spending money, but I'd be working close to Theresa. Sometimes, we had to put more time into a case than usual. Some cases only took a few days. Others, a few months. I figured this would be one of those cases that could take a while. I mean, if I had been raised in a normal environment, and some guy came out of nowhere and tried to tell me that wearing a rosary would cure my cancer, I'd probably think he was crazy. But if I trusted that man when he said it to me, if I knew that man... I might feel differently about it.

I would apply for the job.

Between trying to figure out what my new birth year was for the application and getting used to the taste of Tab soda, the bartender asked me, "Are you Sam?"

Looking at him with what must've been a bewildered expression, I replied, "Yeah?"

"Ah, I knew it," he laughed. "Theresa was talking about you."

My face must've lit up with recognition, because he grinned widely at me. "Theresa was in here?"

"Yeah. Said she met the tallest guy she'd ever seen today, named Sam. If that's not you, I'm scared to see who else is gonna walk in here."

We both had a good laugh over that one. I'm a Sasquatch; I'm used to it. "Yeah, that's me. Where is she now?"

"Uh, I think she's sitting out by the pool, at Slade's Tiki Hut," he said. "She was feeling kind of bad."

I played dumb. "Is she sick?"

He got a grave look on his face. "Going through chemo. Poor kid's got cancer."

"Ohhh." My face reflected the appropriate amount of shock at hearing something awful that I wasn't supposed to already know. "That's horrible."

"Why don't you go out there and see if you can cheer her up?" The bartender grinned again, like he knew something. "I think she kinda likes you."

I grinned back. "That sounds like a great idea. But first, I gotta finish my application."

I'm ashamed to say I had to count backwards on my fingers. My new birth year should be 1951.

The bartender, whose name turned out to be Bo, furrowed his brow at my application. "You're younger than you look," he said, and put it under the bar. "You just get into town? You put the hotel's address here."

I explained that yes, I had just gotten into town and had no place to live currently but the hotel; that's why I needed the job so bad. Bo nodded at my story.

"I have to talk to the boss first, but we'll call your room once we make a decision, okay? Stay available. She may want you to come in for an interview real soon."

Grateful, I shook his hand. "Thanks, Bo."

"No problem, kid."

On my way out, a bright pinkish-red advertising sign caught my eye. TaB, it said. Where There's TaB, There's Refreshment. Wow, this crap was popular back then.

Another millstone statue sat atop a large pedestal in the middle of the pool. The sun had gone down, so it was lit up with spotlights, and the lights under the water had come on too. A couple families lounged next to the pool or in the hot tub; some kids were laughing and throwing a beach ball back and forth through the hole in the middle of the millstone. Not all the stones had a hole in the middle, but this one had been designed with one, probably because it framed the hotel nicely behind it.

Theresa was sitting at Slade's Tiki Hut, a little bar next to the pool that had been done up with a Hawaiian motif, complete with that special grass they use for the skirts all over the walls and roof and leis hanging from every corner. She was hunched over on her stool, hands shielding her eyes, some sort of drink in front of her.

She looked miserable.

The man behind the bar, of course, wore a Hawaiian shirt. He was wiping down the bar as I approached, although he seemed to be avoiding Theresa's general area. A little statue of a woman in a Hawaiian skirt sat near the tip jar; she wobbled her hips as I took a seat on the stool two away from Theresa's. "Hey there, you okay?"

She looked over at me from under her hands. Theresa's face lit up considerably. "Hey, you! How'd you find me?"

"Bo said you'd be out here."

She smiled at the man behind the bar. "Does Bo know me or what? Knows I can't resist your special headache remedy."

The man, who just went by his last name, Slade, gave a small smile of acknowledgement. He was a quiet, gruff man, but a good one.

Lowering her arms, Theresa thumped my knee with the back of her hand. "I'm in a little trouble because of that twenty you gave me. My boss thinks it's counterfeit."

Again, I did something I would have to get used to doing: I played dumb. "Counterfeit? Why?"

"Because the year on it is 2006," she laughed.

"2006? That's crazy!"

"I swear on a stack of Bibles, that's what it says! And the Secretary of the Treasury is wrong, and the Treasurer... it's so weird. I feel like such an idiot, I didn't even notice."

"I got it from a gas station. I hope it's not fake. You know, I bet it's some sort of misprint. Here, let me straighten it out. I can give you a new one that I know is good." Getting out my wallet, I pawed through the bills, looking for my new 1968 angel-cloaked twenty.

"Oh, gee, thanks so much, Sam." Laughing, Theresa took the bill. "I'll take this to my boss before I leave."

"Are you okay?" I asked. "When I came up, you looked like you didn't feel well."

"I've got a headache," she replied. "And I'm a little nauseous."

"Um, Bo kinda mentioned that you were going through chemotherapy. I'm really sorry that you're sick."

Theresa seemed almost embarrassed about it. "Yeah, me too," she joked. "Going through radiation also. Can't say it's fun. It's why I'm on half-days right now, and short term disability." Theresa tried to put a positive spin on it. "But I'm going to come back from all this. The doctor says my tumor seems to be shrinking."

"Hey, that's great!" I suddenly wondered if CAT-scans and MRI's had been invented yet. Something told me I shouldn't bring it up just yet, what the doctor was using to monitor her condition. Not until I'd had time to do some research. Some slow, Internet-less research. "When I was a kid, I'd get sick sometimes - you know how childhood can be, always throwing up for some reason, and my brother would go get me 7-Up. Our dad said room temperature 7-Up was great for a nauseous stomach."

She giggled. "Really? I've never tried that."

"He swore by it." I remembered some of those times. Dean was usually the one to take care of me when I was sick, when our dad wasn't around. "Ginger ale is good too." A smile came to my face at another good memory. "A sick kid gets bored really easily, you know, so while Dean was at the store, he'd get me these paper construction books. They were sort of like paper dolls, except they were little miniature buildings or a circus with animals or something. You'd punch them out and match tab A to tab B, and when you were done, you had a little city, or the whole circus with the tent... I loved those things. Entertained me for hours."

I realized Theresa was just looking at me with an amused expression on her face. "That's so sweet," she said. "Dean is your brother?"

"Yeah. He's... not here. He's kinda far away right now."

"I bet you miss 'im."

I nodded. "Yes. But we'll be reunited eventually."

Now she nodded. "I've seen those paper construction books in the dime store. They're great for little kids."

It made me wonder if Paul liked them too. I'd have to get him some, for when he came home, I thought.

"Well, I better go before it gets too late."

"Be careful, Theresa," Slade said. "A guest got mugged a couple blocks from here the other night."

"Really? Oh... I don't like the sound of that."

Jumping up from my stool, I offered her my arm. "I'll walk you home," I said.

Theresa grinned at me. "Okay." She wrapped her arm in mine. "A mugger would have to be insane to try anything with you."

We both laughed over that. It gave me a happy little tingle, to know she had noticed how big I was. It seemed to make her feel safe with me.

Turns out Theresa lived about five blocks from the hotel. Not a bad walk, but she usually took the bus on days when she was "feeling lazy." On our way there, we talked some more, first about music. Theresa said she loved The Eagles.

"They show a lot of promise," she remarked.

It seemed like a strange thing to say for a band that had been around for, what, six years at that time? But maybe she had just discovered them. "My brother likes The Eagles. Especially with Joe Walsh."

"Joe Walsh?" she questioned. I could see her face in the light of a streetlamp we passed, and she looked bewildered. "The guitarist for The James Gang?"

When had Joe Walsh joined The Eagles, anyway? Had I just made a time blunder? I tried to shrug it off. "I guess I was thinking of someone else."

We walked on. Theresa talked about her love for Led Zeppelin and the Rolling Stones, her two favorite bands ever. Oh, would she and Dean ever get along musically.

As we neared her building, I asked, "Does anyone ever call you Terry?"

"Ah... my mom did. But it kind of makes me uncomfortable now."

"Oh." I wanted to ask her where her parents were, but it seemed too soon in our friendship. Obviously, they weren't around at some point, or they would have taken Paul in when Theresa died. "Is it okay if I come up with a nickname for you?"

She looked at me, a little confused. "If you want to, I suppose... but what other nickname is there for Theresa besides Terry?"

I just grinned. I already had one. "Once, on this TV show called 'Unsolved Mysteries,' they had a story on there about a guy who was married to a woman named Theresa. He called her Tress. I always thought it was really pretty." When I glanced down at her, I noticed she was looking up at me, smiling. Then I realized that at some point, she had taken my hand. We were holding hands. "Can I call you that?" I asked.

Her smile widened; she really seemed to like the sound of it. "Tress. That is pretty. Sure. Sure, you can call me that."

We just looked at each other for a moment, walking slowly to draw out our time together. At least, that's what I was doing.

Then she asked me another one of those questions that made me want to smack myself in the forehead. "I've never heard of 'Unsolved Mysteries.' Is it good? What channel does it come on?"

"Oh! Uh..." It doesn't come on any channel, not until 1987. "It's pretty boring most of the time. Comes on one of those UHF channels no one watches. Their signal is so weak, I can hardly get it to come in half the time."

"Oh."

Nice save. Of course, it wouldn't last long.

"I'm always having to miss my favorite shows because of work," Tress remarked. "I work mornings most of the time, and all the good soaps come on in the morning."

"Why don't you just tape them?" I asked. Bonk! in the forehead again.

"Tape them?"

Crap. Had video cassette recorders been invented yet? I thought they had, but maybe she couldn't afford one. Better not to take the chance that I was making another time faux pas. "Um, yeah... with a tape recorder?"

"Well... I guess I could, but it's just not the same without the pictures."

Phew. I was going to have to get better at remembering what year it was.

When we got to the front of her building, I think she was about to say good-bye, but there was a guy standing on the front steps who wouldn't stop staring at us. It seemed to spook her. I wondered if he was one of the demons. "Do you want to come up for a minute?" Tress asked me.

"Sure." Walking her past the man, I gave him a squinty-eyed look.

Her apartment was small and cute, a tidy one-bedroom with crucifixes on the wall. Everywhere I looked, there was a little statue of an angel or Jesus or the Virgin Mary; they didn't overwhelm the space, but there were a lot of them, watching over her place. Dean and I had never been super religious - Dad didn't take us to church regularly - but I did still believe in God and I did still pray every day, no matter what had happened. Dad had definitely taught us the value of a good religious artifact in the fight against evil. Tress was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of... this is going to make me sound like an asshole. She was clearly Catholic, but not to the point of being no fun. Sorry if that's offensive. It's just, some people can be so religious that they let it take all the joy out of their lives. No music, no dancing, no sex, no merry-making, everything's evil. Tress wasn't like that. She wasn't much of a drinker, but...

Anyway, I'm getting ahead of myself.

I noticed a small box of children's toys in the corner. It was the only evidence that she had a child at all. It made me feel bad for her, that Paul was far from home, and how it must make her feel to look at those unused toys. There wasn't a single photograph of Paul to be seen; I surmised that it must hurt to look at them right now. The only picture I saw was a black and white one on an end table, a mom and dad with their little daughter.

"You have a cute place here," I said, smiling at her.

Tress put down her purse. "My first home. The Millstone is my second." Suddenly, she cringed and put a hand to her temple.

That was the first time I felt her projective empathy. There was a twinge of pain in my head, but I could clearly tell it wasn't mine. It felt hollow, like an echo off a vast mountain chain. Didn't even really hurt me - it was sort of like a message reverberating through my head, telling me Tress was hurting. "Are you okay?" I asked, putting a hand on her arm to steady her.

Then the pain was gone.

Tress shook it off. "Yeah, I'm alright. My pain medication is wearing off. Time for another dose."

"I should probably go, let you get some rest."

"Yeah. Thanks for walking me home." She looked up at me, and a smirk crossed her lips. I loved that naughty little look every time she gave it to me. "I'm not working tomorrow. Just gonna come to The Millstone and sit out by the pool for a while. You should join me."

The pool? I would have to get a bathing suit. It wasn't like Castiel told me to bring one. "Sounds like a lot of fun." Hey, it was like mid-summer outside; why not? "Will you be there around lunchtime?"

"Yeah."

"Okay, we can have lunch at Slade's. The menu on the wall said he has Hawaiian Burgers there. I'd like to know what a Hawaiian Burger tastes like."

Tress laughed. "You're gonna love it." For a second, we just stared at each other, and it was one of those moments where I knew she wanted me to kiss her. Women get a certain look in their eyes. When I leaned over and moved my mouth toward hers, she leaned in too, and our lips came together in a sweet little kiss. I'll never forget that first touch of her lips to mine. The chasteness of it went right to my heart.

"I'll see you tomorrow," I said, and she let me out. We were both grinning like idiots.

Castiel was there when I got back to the room. "What happened?" he asked.

Lying on the bed, I folded my arms under my head and just smiled up at the ceiling. "We've got a lunch date for tomorrow."

"You and Theresa?"

"No, you and me, silly. Yes, me and Theresa."

"Good." Castiel had his coats on again. "Try to get yourself invited to church soon."

"I will." With a contented sigh, I started babbling. "I've got to go get a bathing suit in the morning. She wants to laze around by the pool. I wonder what she looks like in a bathing suit. Hmmmm. I feel bad that she can't have her child with her right now - there wasn't a single picture of Paul anywhere in the - "

I finally realized that Castiel was gone.

Oh well. Before getting ready for bed, I just laid there a while longer and daydreamed of how nice our date was going to be. Just me and Tress, getting to know each other better. How often was a case that enjoyable?