Dually Noted

Castiel presents Frankie with a letter from an unexpected source, tossing her new life through a loop.

(Thank you guys for being so patient. I really enjoyed writing this story, and I hope you all like reading it!)

This chapter is dedicated to my good friend Jamal, who has been reading my story since the beginning. He has given me so much support and I wouldn't have gotten this far without him. Thanks for being such a big driving force behind Frankie's journey, and for being an amazing friend in mine!

The Impala was bathed in a soft orange glow as the sun descended on an idle town in Oklahoma. Sam rubbed the back of his neck – stifling a yawn – and worked the crick in his spine.

They tracked a rugaru down in Louisiana and put an end to its carnivorous raid… at the expense of a quarter of a trailer park. They snuck out when the firetrucks rolled in. They were lucky enough to avoid the pissed off Cajun army that would have torn them a whole helluva new one.

As guilty as they felt, Sam and Dean believed that losing a mobile home was a step up from being eaten alive. They called it square and headed north, either to Bobby's or to another case which would no doubt fall into their laps. For that night, however, they strolled down the lazy highway, keeping their eyes out for the nearest motel.

Sam placed his hand over his left thumb, resisting the urge to rub the light burn. A parting token from the rugaru. Handsy bastard.

The station buzzing through the radio lost connection. Dean made a low grunt in protest and worked the knob, searching for anything decent. Sam sighed, sinking against the headrest and shutting his eyes as exhaustion began to catch up with him.

The distinct keyboard riff chimed merrily through the speakers. Sam nearly snorted. He recognized the tune, and he knew that it would be shut off not even a second later.

But when one second turned to three, he opened his eyes under furrowed brows and glanced over at Dean.

He lightly nodded his head, tapping is fingertips against the steering wheel along with the keys. Sam blinked, slack-jawed, at Dean.

"We get it on most every night… and when that old moon gets so big and bright-"

"Dude," Sam said. "Seriously? 'Dancing in the Moonlight'?"

"What?" Dean answered, falsely defensive.

"You hate this song."

"Since when?"

"Since we stopped at that crumby diner outside of Lubbock, like, a year ago? You said you'd never heard a more 'drunk uncle at a wedding' song in your life."

Dean's nodding became more aggressive, bobbing from side to side, as he recalled the memory. "Everybody deserves a second chance, Sammy. Even King Harvest." Sam arched a brow at his swaying brother. Dean cranked up the volume. "Dancin' in the moonlight! Everybody's feelin' warm and right!"

Sam chuckled and shook his head. "Who are you?"

Sam practically forgot all about his sore back and burned hand. His pain had been traded in for unbridled joy and relief. His amused smile stretched into a grin as he sang along under his breath.

He could never say it aloud, but he had been so worried that his brother was gone for good. The past few months were hard for more reasons than one, and it had taken a huge toll on Dean. So much that Sam had accepted that this was Dean now. It had felt like walking on eggshells day after day. Anything could trigger him to sulk and fortify his walls. Some days, he would go completely without speaking to anyone.

But two weeks ago had been a turning point. He had insisted on going solo on a case. Ghouls. Sam stupidly let him, hoping it would give him time to blow off steam without supervision, but it had turned out to be just what he needed.

He made a 180. Dean would eat in front of him. He hummed and sang along to music, and he would go a conversation without huffing or storming off if Lucifer was mentioned. To say that Sam was relieved was the understatement of the century.

The Impala pulled into the parking lot of a well-lit motel. They got a room and entered the chilly space. Sam's burn throbbed in anticipation when he spotted the sink on the opposite wall.

"So, uh, whaduya say we keep this party goin'?"

Sam tossed his bag onto one of the beds. He glanced at Dean as he placed his bag on the small table against the wall. "You're not tired after all that?"

"What? Nah. I'm actually pretty wired. Not ready to hit the sack."

Sam scoffed, shrugging off his jacket. "Yeah, well I am. I could sleep for both of us."

"Alright. Why don't ya?"

Sam's brows cinched. "Why don't I what?"

Dean shrugged. He stepped up to Sam, a sideways grin on his cheeks. "You put in hard work today. Your hand put in more." Sam snorted, softly rubbing his thumb. "You get some rest. You deserve it."

Sam smiled back. "What about you?"

"Me? I'm gonna hit up that strip club we saw in the next town over!" He patted Sam's shoulder and strutted away, chuckling. "'Pretty girls, good music, cheap beer.' That's got 'me' written all over it."

'Damnit, Dean, it's good to have you back,' Sam thought.

"Sounds like a plan," Sam deadpanned, taking out his sleep shirt and sweatpants.

"You sure you don't wanna tag along? You know these OK girls go gaga over guys they can climb."

Sam barked a short laugh. "Knock yourself out, man. Go crazy."

"Will do. Catch ya in the morning."

"Wait, what? How long are you gonna take?"

Dean opened the door and tossed his keys in his hand, flashing Sam a cheeky smirk. "Long as it takes, Sammy."

He disappeared behind the door, nearly slamming it shut. Sam shook his head as the purr of the Impala heralded his departure.

Sam was still smiling as he stepped into the shower. The cold water trickling down his arm soothed his burn, sending a relaxing wave down his spine. A long hunt, a good drive, a nice shower… could it be that he was having the first good day in months? A year?

He hummed the newly catchy tune from the radio while brushing a towel into his hair. After dressing into his sleep clothes, he curled the towel around his neck and stepped out of the bathroom. He turned his hand in different angles to get a better view of his burn in the light.

Something shifted at the door.

Sam's shoulders tensed, and his fingers tightened into fists as he squared up to the intruder.

"Hello, Sam."

He huffed, and he shushed his rapidly beating heart just as it had picked up its pace. He grumpily shut his eyes and relaxed his shoulders. "You should really knock, Cas."

The angel standing in front of the door passively nodded. "My apologies."

Sam fixed the familiar intruder with a frown. He slinked the towel from his neck and worked it against his dripping hair. "What's the gig?" he sighed.

Cas appeared momentarily confused. He dipped his head and blankly eyed the man. "I have no 'gig' to report."

Sam snorted, switching the towel to the other side of his head. "Well, that's a welcomed relief. Why're you here then?"

Castiel was quiet for a long moment. Long enough for Sam to stop drying and straighten his head. Something was bothering him.

"You may wish to sit."

Sam's brows pulled together. He restrained the instinctual draw to set his jaw. "Cas," he cagily muttered, "what happened?"

Cas slightly lifted his chin, his eyes cold. "I have information that may not be blithely received. I advise you to sit."

Sam's head ran wild and free with speculations of what he could mean. Lucifer leveled a town. A horseman acted out on a national scale. Demons possessed the president and congress and are now running the country.

Sam slowly lowered onto the end of his bed as the assumptions kept coming. "Okay. I'm sitting. What the hell's going on?"

Cas stiffly stepped across the carpeted floor, glancing towards the bathroom. "Where is Dean?"

"Uh, out. He won't be back 'til morning."

Cas's jaw tightened. He repetitively flexed his fingers. His eyes flicked across the wall in thought before he turned around and crossed the room. "It's best I wait until he returns."

"What- no way! You can't just come in here and say you've got bad news and take off like that!"

"I don't intend to depart," the angel said as he sat on the end of Dean's bed.

"Well," Sam scoffed, "what, are you just gonna sit there in silence until tomorrow?"

Cas leisurely turned his head to Sam. "How was your day?"

Sam huffed and rubbed his face. He shifted on the bed to fully face Castiel. "Cas, just tell me what's going on. Whatever it is, we can tell Dean together. Please."

It was bad enough that bad news had to come along just when Dean was livening up. Sam hoped whatever was bugging Cas wasn't lifechanging. There was enough of that going around.

Castiel pressed his lips together, his settled gaze wilting as he thought it over. With a brief sigh, he lifted from the bed and faced Sam. The man tilted his head to keep his inquiring eyes in the angel's solemn ones.

"Frankie is alive."

Seconds ticked by, one after the other, in complete silence. They ticked by to a near silent rhythm. Was that his heart or the clock?

That name… it clogged his throat with trepidation, bathing his chest in ice.

The words that followed – only fully reaching his brain seconds later – were the conductors for his painfully pounding heart.

His brows cut into his face. His lips parted, gradually opening as his jaw slackened. Hazel eyes, narrowed and brimming with incredulity, flicked between Cas's pupils, searching for falsity in his words.

Perhaps he had misheard, for there was no fabrication in his gaze.

"You're not kidding…"

Cas shook his head. "No. And I understand that the truth is a difficult one to process."

Sam was belatedly drained of breath. His eyes widened, heart hammering in his ears.

Sam scurried to her side. The moment his eyes landed on her face, his body stilled. It didn't take him but a second to know he was too late.

Her cheeks were split and swollen, swelling one eye shut. Her nose was crooked and purple, even in the darkness, and colored her eyes black. Her lips were twice the size they should've been and busted by multiple blows and cuts. Her cheek had a stripe of blood connected to a long slice along her jaw, drizzling small streams of red down her neck like spilled paint off a roof.

"Frankie," he gasped. He brought a hand to her face, his fingers brushing the bangs out of her swollen eye.

Sam's lungs squeezed out a trembling huff. His throat bobbed with a thick gulp. He looked up to Dean, throwing his damp, plagued eyes into his brother's misery coated ones.

Sam sniffed through his brewing tears. He placed his hands on each side of her face, gently turning her head towards him. He got a good look into her hazy eyes. One look was all it took for the dam to break, and tears bubbled from his eyes, barely missing her cheek.

"She was-… h-how? She was d- was dead, how is she alive?" He swallowed and darted his warm eyes up to Cas. "Whaduya mean she's alive?"

"Frankie," Cas sighed, flattening his hands against his legs, "was resurrected by an angel. His identity has been adeptly concealed from us, though I have not stopped searching for it."

"Wha- huh?! Th-That doesn't make any sense!" Sam exclaimed, his voice cracking. "Why save her? What's in it for them?!"

Cas averted his eyes. Hints of resentment cracked through his mechanical façade. "This angel told her that Heaven still has plans for her."

Sam's bewildered eyes flicked across the floor. He vigorously shook his head, flapping his damp hair against his cheeks. "But how-how is that possible, Cas? Gabriel said the angels were done with her."

"Yes. It all remains mysterious," the angel lowly mused. His body turned, and he began to slowly pace in front of the beds. "Frankie confided in me that prior to her death, Lucifer said that she didn't understand her potential. It seems that either Gabriel lied, or the angels have found a new purpose for her. Whatever the reason, Heaven wants her alive, and they have gone to great lengths to keep her that way."

Sam sat quietly on the bed, clutching the edge of the mattress tightly.

Frankie… was alive?! Grasping the idea was a huge feat.

Many a night he wouldn't sleep at all, too tortured by the uncertainty of where she was – either in the hands of angels or the hands of demons, nowhere was a good place for her to be. Many a night he wished and prayed that she was someplace where she could find peace, or at least be numb enough to no longer feel the pain.

But now… now she's alive. Sam couldn't quite shake the uncertainty of whether that was a better position for her to be in.

He thickly swallowed. He reigned in his quick breath, trying to gather a level mind. "So… so-so she's okay, right? They aren't holding her prisoner or-or hurting her, are they?"

"No," Cas quickly answered. "Although, their lack of interference in her life isn't granting her any more favors than blatant torture."

Sam tilted his head, eyes narrowing. "What do you mean?"

Cas's eye faintly twitched. He turned away from Sam and stepped towards the window by the door. "She was lifted from the depths of Hell and dropped onto Earth without so much as a clue as to why. She was left to fend for herself. If I hadn't been there when she awoke, I don't know how she would have found her way."

Sam's back slowly straightened, his brows sloping. He huffed in disbelief. "She was in Hell?" He softly shook his head. "I mean, we always assumed, but… she really was there?"

Cas's head lowered. He glanced over his shoulder towards Sam, a burdened look in his eye. "Yes. Her soul belonged to a demon. And even if it hadn't, Lucifer would have found a way to keep her within his grasp. He has an infuriating infatuation for her that I do not understand." His eyes fell to the floor. "The single most mitigating factor of her resurrection is that she is completely ignorant of the current state of the world. She knows nothing about the Apocalypse remaining in advancement." He dipped his head and lifted his eyes to impale Sam with an accentuating gaze. "She doesn't know that Lucifer still lives."

Sam leaned back with a slow inhale. He dropped his hands onto his knees with a dull slap. "Isn't she the lucky one," he sighed. At least that meant Lucifer wasn't directly involved with her, if at all. That lifted a few weights from his chest, but several more remained in their absence.

Poor Frankie… As if her death wasn't torment enough, she had to endure what felt like years in Hell at the talons of a demon. Resurrected or not, it was an unspeakable thing to experience, to live through. Four months had been more than enough for Dean to lingeringly suffer.

Sam furrowed his brows. He chewed the lining of his cheek as he calculated in his head. "How long was she there before the angel stepped in?"

Cas's eyes averted again. "A month."

Sam cut his eyes to Cas.

His teeth squeaked with the tightening of his jaw. His hands gestured wildly as he shot to his feet. "A month?! Cas, she died months ago! You didn't tell us the minute she was topside?!" His head whipped back and forth before his fiery eyes landed on his bag. He hurriedly unzipped it and ripped out his cellphone. "What the hell were you thinking?!"

"I was following orders."

"Whose orders?!" Sam barked, scrolling through his contacts for Dean's name.

"Hers."

"Hers?!" Sam ran his fingers through his damp hair as he darkly chuckled. "Let me guess. She didn't think she needed protecting, so she made you promise to keep this secret from us. Yeah, 'cause that worked out so well last time!"

"You need to calm down."

Sam pointed the phone at Cas. "And you need to get it through your head that she doesn't know what's best for her!"

Cas dauntingly eyed the raving man. "Sam. If there's one thing she learned from her time in Hell, it's that she doesn't know what's best for her."

The phone lowered. Sam, caught off guard, shook his head and contorted his face into a confused glower.

Cas sighed, calming down and looking off to the side. "When she was in Hell… it changed her. More than it had Dean. She crawled out of the dirt barely remembering who she was. She knew her name and she remembered you two, but she had been tortured for so long that she was disconnected from the sister you knew. She asked me to wait until she was well hidden before revealing the truth to you and Dean. But she refuses to reconnect with her family until she remembers who she is supposed to be."

Cas went quiet and was still for a long moment. His eyes were distant, lips pressed into a frown. He whispered a sigh, bringing him back into the room. "She is still struggling to rekindle her past self. She grows each day, but… it is a challenge for her. She has nightmares most nights. Memories from perdition."

Sam eyes scanned Cas. He traced each crease in his face, each rigid muscle. He heard the tiny, barely incomprehensible inflections in his voice. He definitely wasn't speaking as a spectator.

Cas had been with her this whole time, hadn't he? Hands on, not just watching through a window. Despite all the horror she had been through, at least she wasn't going through the aftermath alone. She and Cas had been friends before she died. It made sense that they'd still be after she was brought back. And that friend of hers hadn't told them that she'd been alive this whole freakin' time!

"It was I who decided to wait until now to share the truth with you. Frankie was against the idea of prolonging the inevitable, but I wouldn't act until you two were ready to handle it."

"Oh really?" Sam scoffed. He shuffled his feet and crossed his arms. "And how the hell did you come to the conclusion that now was the best time, hm? After everything we've been through? Have you seen how bad Dean's been knowing our sister was brutally murdered and dragged to Hell? You thought letting us suffer for this long was the way to go?"

"Yes."

Sam's hands balled into fists.

Cas tightened his face into a knowing glare. He looked about ready to roll his eyes. "Had you known she was alive immediately after she was resurrected, you and your brother would have gone out of your way to track her down despite the girl not being mentally able to watch television without breaking into a psychotic episode. Am I correct in that assumption?"

Sam clenched his teeth. He sniffed, scowling off to the side.

"And if I had told Dean before he moved on from her death, he would have gone rogue and hunted her whereabouts despite numerous attempts from both of us to prevent him from doing so. Frankie doesn't yet want to be found, so I had to wait until you two were of right mind to put aside your selfish desire to protect what you have no power over. I am taking care of her. I can protect her in ways you cannot."

"Alright," Sam snapped. "I get it."

Cas stifled another sigh. He reeled back his bitter energy. "I don't mean to say that I am her sole protector. Our situation is far more complex than that. I only mean that she needs a friend right now, not her brothers. But that is not permanent in the slightest." Cas's observant eyes flicked across Sam's face before softening. "She asks about you frequently."

Frankie asked about him? Sam: the brother who had an active hand in her murder? Who brought on the end of the world? No, that couldn't be right.

"She asks about Dean. He was the one she liked," he bitterly scoffed. Turned away, he couldn't see Cas's frustration, but he sure could feel it radiating off him as he stepped closer to his side.

"Perhaps it is not a matter of liking, but a matter of love." Sam blinked, staggered by the concept, from Cas, nonetheless. "Perhaps she has learned that living in the past advances nothing. It's the past she doesn't want to relive. She has moved on, and she hopes that you will do the same."

Sam wilted. Frankie sounded… mature. The month in Hell had aged her, worn her juvenile personality down to the bone. By the sound of it, Hell had turned Frankie into… well, not Frankie.

The Frankie he was accustomed with would be stubborn and refuse to move on. She'd dig her heels into where she was until she righted all the wrongs, and then she could move on. But now it seemed that there was nothing left to right. Nothing to solve. There was only living with what had been done.

And she chose to use the time she was given back to ask about someone like him.

The brewing warmth in his chest thawed his lips into a faint smile. He glanced to Cas with a softer look in his eye.

"She really asked about me? Specifically?"

Cas nodded. "She wanted to know if you had decorated your latest motel room with a 'link chart' of possible monster identities."

Sam's soft chuckle pushed his smile into a half-smirk. Oh man, her first case had seemed like ages ago. She was so curious and excited, though she had tried to downplay it in front of them. That moment they shared when she marveled at his wall of pictures and evidence for the tammatuyuq case was one he held close to his heart. It was one of the so few moments where he felt they really connected. One of the moments that held the potential of the brother-sister relationship he desired.

"Well, you can tell her that Dean wouldn't let me. But I did a small one in the Impala's glove compartment without him knowing." With an exhale, the shred of amusement fled from his face.

"What's wrong?"

"It, uh… I dunno, it-it would be funnier if I told her myself."

Cas stiffened, looking off to the side. "I can deliver an effective witticism."

"No. No, Cas," Sam softly snorted, "I mean, knowing that she's alive but not being able to talk to her, let alone see her, I just-… It's not the same, y'know?"

Cas offered a sympathetic glance. "I understand. I know the separation is difficult to endure. It is taking a toll on her as well. Perhaps, more than you will be able to process. She misses you greatly."

Sam weakly smiled, his heavy heart weighing it down. "We miss her." He shook his head, willing away the urge to grind his teeth in frustration. "It would just be good to tell her that."

So close. So close compared to the distance of Hell. She was practically within arm's grasp, and he couldn't even catch a glimpse of her. Sam knew that it was for the best. She probably thought he would yell at her for staying away. The thought splashed him with a cold sheet of sorrow. She had no idea that he had forgiven her for everything she did. That he – more than anyone – understood, and that there wasn't a molecule of anger towards her left in him.

If only he could tell her that.

He plopped himself down into a thin chair in front of a small desk. He rested his elbow on its surface, rubbing his hand into his face. His arm slipped against the desk, and he glared at it for an answer.

His elbow had been sitting on top of a blank sheet of paper with the motel's name plastered on it in tiny red lettering at the top. Some complementary amenity provided by the staff.

A blank sheet of paper.

Sam's eyes lifted, distant in thought, before he whipped his head back to Cas, a new vitality lighting up his pupils. "Do you think-… I know she's not ready to see me, but how would she- how do you think she'd feel about reading a note from me? That wouldn't put too much of a strain on her, do you think?"

Cas gave a meager shrug. "I certainly don't see an issue in trying for it. I can present her with a note, but I cannot guarantee that she will read it. I do not speak for her. I only aid wherever and whenever she needs me."

Sam's grin was genuine. "You're a good guy, Cas. I can't thank you enough for watching over her. I get why you couldn't tell us 'til now, I'm not mad. Just- thanks."

Castiel smiled back, stiff and underdeveloped, but sincere.

Sam plucked a pen with no cap out of the small holder at the edge of the desk. After a few test scribbles on the corner of the paper, he began writing down his message to Frankie.

He scratched out words, penned out whole sentences, and nearly crumpled the whole thing up to start over, stopped only by the realization that it was the only blank page there. But after several straining minutes, he folded the sheet and wrote her name on the flap.

He stood from the chair and stepped up to Cas. He held the feeble note in his hands, mentally rereading it to make sure he didn't forget anything, and carefully held it out for the angel to take.

"I will present her with this. If she has any comment after reading it, I will report back to you. That is, if she opens it."

Sam shied away from the thought of her rejection. He covered his fragility by snatching his wet towel from the bed and wiping water droplets from his jaw and neck. Cas stuffed the letter into the inner pocket of his coat.

"Do you suppose Dean will write her a note as well?"

Another belated reaction, Sam froze in his skin.

Dean would go batshit. If Sam nearly went frantic with rage, Dean would be vicious. The moment her name leaves Cas's lips, his mind will be a downward slope. When the word "alive" follows, Sam wasn't sure that he'd be quick enough to stop Dean from clutching the angel's lapels and slamming him into the nearest wall.

With three words, Dean would lose all progress from his grief.

With three words, Sam would lose his brother again.

Cas could have waited until he was forty; Dean would still drop everything and find her. It was hard enough for Sam to stay away. Knowing her mental fragility helped restrain him.

But Frankie went to Hell, and now she was back. Dean was the only human walking who knew what that was like, and knowing what he knows – knowing what she knows – there was no way that he was going to leave her be. He wouldn't trust Cas with being able to take care of her after her torture.

Forget about writing her a note. Dean would go to her himself to speak his mind, no matter what they did to stop him.

"Cas… we can't tell Dean."

The remains of Cas's smile warped into a sharp frown. He glared. "Sam, I won't lie to Dean. I swore that I would never again keep secrets from either of you."

"Well, it's a little late for that," Sam chuckled. Cas's brows sank over his eyes. "Cas, you've done what you thought was right to make sure we obey Frankie's wishes. But let's be honest here, this is Dean. You could tell him on his deathbed and he'd still roll outta the sheets to hunt her down." Cas's eyes dropped to the floor. "We tell him, there's no stopping him. Even if we locked him up, he'd break out eventually."

"He has changed. He is breaking out of his depressive state-"

"Nothing's changed, Cas! Because Frankie's not just alive, she's back from Hell. Okay? Dean's not gonna let her walk without his help. In his mind, he's the only one who can help her." Sam sighed at the angel's contemplative gaze. "Unless you see something I don't."

"He still deserves to know the truth. How would you feel if he knew and you didn't?"

Sam swallowed. "I'd be pissed. But not as pissed as he'll be when he finds out you've been harboring her for this long, no matter how good a reason."

"So, what do you suppose we do?" Cas muttered in an almost growl. He pointed his peeved gaze to Sam. "We cannot hide her forever."

"I know. I know that, Cas, but-… look, we'll tell him. Together, we'll tell him. Just not now. I gotta… we gotta find the right time."

"When will that be?" Cas sighed, his aura of exasperation surprising Sam.

"I dunno, but it's not as soon as he gets back from a night of drinking and loose women. I know Dean. I'll find the moment. And when I do, I'll get you involved."

Cas glanced off to the side, weighing Sam's words. "Do you swear by that? Do you stand by your word to wait for us both to tell him?"

Sam chuckled. "I'm not takin' him on by myself."

Castiel briefly shut his eyes, softly nodding. "Then, so be it."

"Really?" Sam arched a brow.

"Yes. We will tell him when you assume he is ready for the truth. But I will not wait long, Sam." Cas turned and fully faced the man. "Remember that."

Sam crossed his arms and ignored how dry his mouth was under the angel's glare. "Noted."

The gust of wind stung his eyes, and he squeezed them shut. He didn't need to open them to know that Cas was gone.

Sam stood in the middle of the motel room. He wouldn't be doing any sleeping for either of them tonight.

The microwave beeped twice before she opened its door with a clunk. She snatched an edge of the popcorn bag and quickly withdrew it before the fumes burned her fingers. She gave the bag an instinctive shake – loosening the kernels – and waited a moment for it to cool. She sank her teeth into the opposite edge from the one her fingers gripped and yanked back.

The bag tore open. Too wide. A quarter of the bag's popcorn plopped to the kitchen floor. She spat out the fragment of paper torn by her incisors and poured the rest of the bag's contents into a green bowl.

"I'd say that is a modest success, Frankie. 'Why, thank you very much, Frankie!'"

She stepped over the fresh mess at her feet and crossed the apartment to the couch, humming the I Love Lucy theme along the way. She settled down on the cushion, cross-legged, and rested the bowl in her lap. She mindlessly crunched on her snack as she idly watched the credits of a random show displayed on the TV.

Knocking came from the door. "Cmm im!" Frankie called with a mouth full of popcorn. She twisted her body to look over the back of the couch. Castiel entered and met her with a nod. "Mm! Cas! C'mon, Lucy's about to start!"

"Frankie."

She made a double take at the angel. That wasn't a smile in his eyes. They were serious.

"Oh no…," she groaned. "I know that look. Is it cataclysmic? World-ending?"

Cas appeared momentarily confused. "No."

"Will it change life as I know it?"

"Not necessarily."

"Then it can wait 'til after Lucy. Now get your tail over here."

Cas complied with no fuss. He sat down next to Frankie, lightly dipping the couch. As their gazes pointed to the television, Frankie held her bowl out to the angel. He didn't react. Frankie shook the bowl, the popcorn noisily shuffling against the plastic.

Cas finally looked down at the bowl. "No." He turned back to the TV.

Frankie stared at him, bemused. "Y'know, I never see you eat anything. I guess angels don't get hungry, but what? Is it, like, 'sinful' for you to eat human food?" she inquired playfully.

"No. Some angels may eat for pleasure, but I cannot begin to understand why." He reached into the bowl and plucked a single flake. He held it in front of his face, slowly twisting it in his fingers. "I do not process flavor the same way you do. I only taste the molecules that construct the morsel. It is not as pleasurable for me."

Whether he wanted to prove the point or was simply running on autopilot, Cas placed the popcorn flake in his mouth and chewed it, bracing for the disgust.

His jaw slowed. He blinked, and his brows lowered over his eyes.

"What?" Frankie asked. "Is it as bad as you thought?"

Cas was quiet long enough for Frankie to outwardly show her concern. The angel tilted his head. "Curiously…," he mused quietly, "it is not the same as the last time I ate. It tastes… different."

Frankie flicked her eyes between Cas and the bowl in her hand. She drew it closer to her. "Well, it's… it's non-butter, so…"

The moment couldn't have moved on any slower before the all-too familiar theme song to their favorite show played on the TV. Their attentions were tethered to the screen, watching as Lucy got into her usual antics, leaving Ricky to use it against her in a humorous and conclusively loving way.

Frankie only became aware of it a little over halfway into the episode, but when she finally noticed it, she grew a smile that didn't fade until the credits rolled. Castiel was mindlessly reaching into the bowl and eating piece after piece of popcorn. By the faraway look in his eye, he probably didn't even know he was doing it. Frankie didn't alert him of it, and simply set the bowl in between them so he had better access.

The theme blared as the credits leisurely crawled over the screen. Frankie sighed and leaned back on the arm of the couch, picking at a kernel skin stuck in her teeth. "Alrighty, Cas. Lucy and Ricky have gone to bed. You now have my undivided attention. What's the scoop?"

Cas's face shifted from the relaxed expression of her friend to the hardened mechanical gaze of the angel he was. When he wore that look, Frankie knew fun times were over. She straightened her back against the arm and put on a serious expression of her own.

Cas lifted the lapel of his coat and reached into the inner pocket. He took out a folded white piece of paper with her name written on the top. She curiously tilted her head, not unlike the way in which her friend typically did.

"Sam wrote a note for you."

Her jaw was heavy. Her tight frown was the only force keeping it from dropping. Her head straightened as his name bounced around in her head.

Cas was prepared for her hesitation. "Do not feel pressured to read it. I understand the apprehension you must feel. I suggest you take your time. Get some rest. Consider your decision gradually. Stress is not the emotion he would want you to feel when reading this."

Frankie swallowed thickly. She nodded her head, her eyes never leaving the small, white square in his fingers. "Wait. Yeah, wait."

Cas lifted from the couch and walked toward the front door. He removed a tack from the cork board by the coat hooks. He pinned the note with her name facing out. It hung there, waiting for her move. Would it stay there forever, never to be opened? Would she rip it up and throw it away, too afraid to read the words? She didn't know; her head was spinning too fast.

Cas glanced at the clock. "It's late."

Frankie was already a step ahead of him. She headed into her bedroom, changing into her pajamas to the beat of her loud heart.

She woke up before the sun. Her eyes were set to the stippled ceiling above her, her mind far from calm.

Most nights she dreamed of Hell. The nights she didn't, she wouldn't dream at all. Well, that night she did dream, and for the first time, not of Gamigin.

She dreamed of Sam. She dreamed of Dean. She dreamed of them looking at her like a beast, a betrayer. She dreamed of them in Crowley's mansion, having just learned of what kind of person she truly was.

But this dream didn't end like reality had. They didn't storm out of the room. They revealed knives. Stalked up to her. Put an end to her reign of deception.

She didn't wake up with a start. Being stabbed was the least intense turn of her dreams, but the emotional toll of seeing their faces again so clearly… of witnessing the hurt in their eyes all over again… Her usual tears barreled down her head and into her pillow.

They knew. They knew she was alive, and that she'd been alive for a while. God, they must think she wanted to keep the fact secret forever. What if they thought she never wanted to see them again?

What if they were on their way to beat her up right that second?!

She sat up, clutching her knees.

What did the note say? What choice words did Sam have for her?

'You lying bitch.'

'How could you keep secrets again?! After how your last ones played out?!'

'You're in for it now.'

There was no way he wouldn't be mad. Not after how much she hurt them. Hell, the last time she ever saw him, she was in Lucifer's hand, putting Sam in a helluva position! It was her fault that he was right where the Devil wanted him to be! She didn't blame him for putting fire to page, but that didn't mean she wanted to read it.

With a hefty sigh, she stood from the bed and undressed for a cold shower.

Her mind had been a jumble at work. The lonely walk home fared worse for her poor brain. Her free thoughts wandered to her nightmare and to that damn note. When she got home, she hung her coat on the hook by the door, avoiding eye contact with the white square with her name on it.

The next day was the same, fit with a reappearance of the same dream. This time, however, it was only Dean who stabbed her. The next night, it was only Sam. And the next night, neither of them stabbed her. In fact, neither of them was even there.

The dream had played out the exact same as the first, minus the presence of the two. It was Frankie admitting her sins to herself, and when the big finish came along, it wasn't her brothers that stabbed her.

She held their knife to her neck and sliced it across her throat, spilling her blood onto her shoes. She would have been better off if she had woken up right then and there, but she wasn't pulled from the nightmare until she had slowly collapsed to her knees, and then her forehead, all the while staining the lavish carpet red.

She had to read the letter.

Cas wasn't there that morning. Most likely had some God or brother business to take care of. She got out of bed and walked through the main room, making a beeline for the cork board. She nearly ripped the note with how fast she unpinned it.

She sat at the dining table with the note resting on its surface. She stared down at it silently.

Her mind was raving with all the possible words written on that paper, each one making her rethink opening it.

She shut her eyes. It was better to know what they really thought about her than live a life in uncertainty.

Her fingers moved quickly to unfold and smooth it against the table.

The first thing her eyes jumped to was the letters themselves. The curve of the S's, the sharpness of the T's, the scratched-out words and sentences never to be cognized. This was no typed document, some formal letter from a stranger. This came from a real person. Her brother.

Blinking her eyes back into focus, she read the faded ink markings written by Sam.

Frankie,

So, you're alive.

My head is still reeling as I write this down. What could I possibly say, other than I am more overjoyed that you're alive than you could possibly know? It's so hard to convey that on paper.

It's surreal to think of you as alive right now. I've spent so long avoiding thinking about you. That sounds really bad, I know, but it was the only way I could take on the day, you know? I mean, if I thought about you, the way you laughed, the way you bit your nails when you were nervous, I couldn't really function.

Oh man, that sounds so sappy, but I don't have enough paper to rewrite this, so sorry.

I hope you're doing well, and that Cas is taking good care of you. I hope you get the chance to do things that make you happy and get more opportunities to laugh like you do. You know, snorting like a pig and stuff?

When you're ready, we're right here waiting for you. One day we'll see each other again. And when we do, I'm going to give you the biggest hug. You know, if you want it.

Hope this wasn't too sappy. I'm not good at writing these things. Just know that all I want is for you to be happy.

Please take care of yourself.

~ Sam

A tear dropped onto "stuff," smudging the markings. She reread the note over and over again. More than one word was victim to her falling tears.

He wasn't-… He was happy. Glad. He was actually glad!

She held her hand over her mouth, pressing against her quivering lips.

It had been so long… she forgot how sweet Sam could be. Back before the demon blood, before the mess, he was so doting to her. He wanted to know her so bad. He never got a chance to, and she never got to know him. Oh god, she wanted to.

Her eyes fell towards the bottom of the page. One day we'll see each other again. And when we do, I'm going to give you the biggest hug. You know, if you want it. Oh, she did. God, she did. She'd hold onto him like he was the last thing she'd ever touch.

One day.

Three knocks on the door.

"Come in," she called, out of breath. It was then that she noticed she was sobbing quite loudly, enough for the angel on the other side of the door to enter with a look of concern on his face.

"Are you-" Cas stopped just as the door shut behind him. His eyes locked onto the note. His brows eased from their furrowed position over his sympathetic eyes. "I hope he used gentle words."

Frankie coughed out a chuckle. "Uh, yeah. He did. These-These are tears of joy, Cas." The angel nodded his head in understanding. Frankie returned her eyes to the paper. "It just hit me was all. Reading something from him after all this time."

"He missed you very much," Cas said, walking to stand at her side. "He insisted that if he couldn't speak to you in person, he would express his relief of your resurrection in one form or another."

"I'm glad he did. This is… this is just what I needed." Frankie looked up at Cas with a timid smile. "I kinda beat myself up about whether or not I should read it. I… actually had nightmares about it."

Cas gave her a scolding look. "I specifically told you to not feel pressured to read it."

Frankie rolled her eyes and lightly smacked his stomach with her nub. "C'mon, Cas, it's a letter from my brother. I woulda read it eventually."

"Now that you have," he said, looking at the note sprawled out in front of her, "do you have any response?"

Frankie tilted her head. "Response?"

"Sam will be wondering the fate of his letter. I can tell him that you read it, and any comments you have regarding it. If you wish."

Frankie blinked up at her friend, thinking over the idea.

What did she have to say in response?

What would she say to Sam if he were right in front of her?

She didn't trust Cas to remember every single thought she had in her head. She had so much to tell him! She'd tell him what she had been up to, how much she changed, who she really was. She'd give him a chance to really know her.

Something he never got a chance to do.

Something she never got a chance to do.

She looked at the note on the table. This could be their chance, couldn't it? Exchanging letters through Cas. Back and forth, they'd ask questions, eagerly awaiting the answers, which would arrive and teach them about the other, little by little.

This was their chance.

"Know what?" Frankie quietly muttered. "I think I'll tell him myself."

Cas stared at the human heart in his hand, eyeing the mark of union on the deceased man's organ. The very sight of the Enochian sigil did not bode well for the boys' current case.

They had called him to investigate a crime of passion – too passionate, as it turned out. A young man and woman ate each other to death, possessed by some force. That force had not been demonic – that would have been simple. Instead, the culprit appeared to be a Cherub, third class. To humans, they were known as "Cupid."

"What I'm saying is a Cupid has gone rogue, and we have to stop him before he kills again," he gravely explained. He was met with nettled faces.

"Naturally," Sam exasperatingly exclaimed. He snorted at the odd turn of events for what seemed to be an ordinary case.

Dean pulled a half-determined sneer, saying, "Of course we do," in a vacant voice. Cas took his nodding as a sign of fortitude rather than cluelessness.

Dean grabbed a stained rag and began wiping his hands of the muck from handling the organs of the two victims. He glanced around at the scattered Tupperware in the hospital's morgue. They had made a mess, and by the look on his face, he wasn't going to stick around to clean up.

"I'm gonna pull the car around, and you," he smacked his still dirty hand on Sam's shoulder, gaining a disgusted look from the man, "make this place sparkle, huh?"

"Wha- hey! You opened half of these things!" Sam's voice fell on deaf ears as Dean waltzed out of the lab whistling a tune Cas didn't recognize. It was a vexatious action to pull on another person, but Sam's smile told Cas that he didn't seem to mind. Curious. He usually scorned Dean's juvenile behavior.

Their positive relationship was still intact. Dean's mood was still elevated. Cas furrowed his brows.

"You haven't told him."

Sam flicked his eyes to the angel. He stared blankly at him, but Cas could feel his guilt.

"No. Not yet."

Although Cas wanted to scold Sam, he decided to allow the avoidance of revealing the truth just this time.

Sam began packing away the several organs and putting them in the refrigerator. Cas stepped over to the doorway and glanced around for Dean. He examined hallways and the immediate corners. When he could pick up no sign of him, he returned to Sam to make use of the opportunity.

"I have something for you," he announced as he walked back into the lab.

Sam whipped the hair out of his face and turned to Cas as he shut the fridge, the last of the organs put away. "What is it?"

The angel reached into the inner pocket of his coat and held the folded paper out to Sam. "A letter from Frankie."

Sam went wide-eyed. His pupils flicked between the angel and the note until he excitedly snatched the paper from Cas's fingers. He didn't seem to mind that he was staining the paper with his wet hands. He skimmed right over his name on the front and unfolded the letter, revealing the writing within.

The light in his eyes dimmed. His brows narrowed with the shake of his head. "This can't be from her. It's not her handwriting." He looked up at Cas. "I read her last note a hundred times. This is too neat to be from Frankie."

Cas nodded once, understanding his confusion. "It's mine. She asked me to inscribe her words. Her writing would be unintelligible. She has been improving the use of her nondominant hand, but usual functions remain challenging without her right manus."

Sam's eyes widened once more, though the emotion in them was inverted from the last. "She… she doesn't have her right hand? What-What do you mean she doesn't have her hand?!"

Cas's eyes fell. "I didn't witness it myself, but she lost her hand in the explosion meant to kill her." A somber realization spread across Sam's face. "She died without it, and she was resurrected without it. The angel that freed her used her injury as a way of communicating their power and authority over her."

Sam raked his fingers through his hair as he sighed. "This whole time?" he quietly asked.

"Yes. Infuriating and inconvenient as the act was, she has come to terms with it. She is learning every day to live with one hand. I'm sure she would wish you not pity her."

"Of course not," he answered quickly.

Cas watched the hurricane of emotions pass behind Sam's eyes. He was distraught over her suffering, angry at the angels, and proud of her for staying strong and hopeful.

With another sigh, Sam straightened the note in his hands and set his eyes to the graphite scribblings from his sister. He read aloud, his voice finding a lighter tone.

"'Sam. You think your head is reeling.'" He softly snorted. "'I've been waiting for Cas to spill the beans, and now that he has, I can rest easy. I'm glad that you two know the truth'…" He thickly swallowed and glanced up at Cas. The angel began pacing around the lab, avoiding the sideways glare that he wanted to burn into the man.

"… 'and I'm elated that it brings you happiness. Since some rando angel snatched me up, I've settled into a small apartment, and Cas has been staying with me to keep me in check. I have a job as a custodian. Not glamorous, but it keeps me busy. I've been going to church-' I've been going to church?"

Sam snapped his head up to the pacing Cas, fixing him with a stunned gape. Cas refrained from giving him a reaction. Blinking his confusion away, Sam forced his eyes back onto the letter.

"'-with Cas," he flashed another quick glance to the angel, "so I'm never in one place for too long, and that's for the best. I'm sure Cas has told you that I've had some bad nightmares since I got back. Mostly memories from my time down there. The busier I am, the less they sting – at least most of the time.'"

Sam swallowed passed a heavy lump in his throat. What horrors did she see when she closed her eyes? How could she find the strength to lay her head on a pillow, knowing that agony was waiting just behind her eyelids? How long did she suffer in silence before Cas caught on to her torment?

He rubbed his face and brushed his bangs out of his eyes. He cleared his voice and focused on the unread words.

"'Sam, I'd really appreciate if you kept in touch. I still have a ways to go before I can face those I betrayed, but until then I feel like this is a good opportunity to get to know the brother I never got a chance to befriend. I'd love to hear about what you and Dean have been up to.'"

He couldn't help the smile that formed from looking at the signature: the one part of the note that was written in her own – shaky – hand.

"'Love, Frankie.'"

The smile turned into a sloppy grin as he reread the letter. His eyes slowly traced over the last paragraph.

He had wished for so long to get a second chance on their relationship. He messed up big. And, well… so did she. Neither of them was free of sin, but the good thing was that there was only room to grow.

Fate threw them a golden opportunity. Through occasional letters, they could create the brother-sister relationship they both craved until they could be together once again.

It suddenly seemed that things were settling in Sam's life. He got his brother back. He got his sister back. And though the world was imploding, at least his family was at his side to distract him, one way or another.

The following weeks went just as Frankie had hoped. It started out with one letter each once a week. Then it was every few days. They made time out of their day to read and write. It was easier for Frankie, and – in her mind – it was greater anticipated.

When work would toss her a tough day, Cas was there to greet her, and while that was nice on its own, he would present her with a small, folded square with her name on it and her day would instantly turn around.

She'd run up to him, face split into an excited grin, and snatch the letter from his hand with a barely intelligible "thanks". She'd trot into her bedroom and dive onto the mattress, bellyflopping onto the comforter. Her legs would kick up as she unfolded the note, positioned like an excited schoolgirl receiving a text from her crush.

Her mannerisms weren't so jaunty at first, but with each letter cluing her in on who her brother truly was – sans demon blood – she was showered in an overwhelming elation.

Her joy came from her deep longing of a true brother, the kind that you'd see in Sunday morning cartoons, the kind you'd see carrying their little sister on their shoulders so she could see the parade. As much as she cared for Dean, she knew he would never be that boy. Sam on the other hand, he had that potential. She was a little big for shoulder carrying now, but the words he penned on his notes came from a place of adoration for his little sibling.

Frankie figured that this was new and desired territory for Sam. He had always been the little brother. Now, he could play the part of the big brother.

Their relationship moved at a slow pace. It was difficult to conjure a close sibling connection with such a great distance, and previous actions on both parts made it a bit hard to accept trust, but they mutually knew that the right path to take was to become friends first and then let the sibling bond flow from there. Frankie assumed that the bond wouldn't truly form until they met in person once more, but that was fine. Things were perfect enough for the time being.

Their notes mostly included updates on what they had been up to since Frankie died and was resurrected.

Frankie,

Dean and I have been hunting as much as we can. We've been keeping busy, too. Dean's kind of like a shark: if he stops moving, he'll drown in his own boredom.

It hasn't been all bad, though. There's been ups just as much as the downs. I've finished about a dozen crossword puzzles. Dean is pretty sure he saw Clint Eastwood in a Texaco bathroom. Dean won $10 on a scratch-off lotto. Dean got a Celine Dion song stuck in his head for a solid week.

Okay, so Dean has been having a more interesting time lately, but I've been enjoying it, I guess. I was worried he'd be sulking for the rest of his life. Glad it's not the case.

Sam,

Things haven't been all sad and gloomy over here. Cas and I have been up to all sorts of wacky stuff! I got him hooked on daytime television, and I taught him how to play chess, Scrabble, and all kinds of board games. I haven't challenged him to Battleship yet. He's going to be pretty much unbeatable at that.

Frankie,

Dean and I parked the Impala just outside of a drive-in. They were playing The Shawshank Redemption. Have you seen that one? It was a fantastic film, and I was prepared to leave it at that, but Dean had quite a few opinions on how Andy could have escaped sooner. I didn't get a blink of sleep on that ride.

Their later letters focused more on general likes and dislikes, getting to know the other on a more personal – albeit basic – level.

One Friday night, Sam summoned Cas to deliver a letter to Frankie. Dean was gone on another depravity spree, leaving him alone in the motel for the remainder of the night. He wrote a short message for his sister.

Frankie,

Dean's off scoring chicks at a nudie bar for the evening. I'm available to write all night long if you're up for it.

Cas popped back into existence next to the couch and handed Frankie the letter. She grinned as her eyes scanned over the scribblings. All she had to do was lift her head for Cas to present her with a pencil. She softly smiled up at the angel before writing underneath Sam's note. She had been practicing using her left hand with the last couple letters and was starting to get better.

Sam,

Of course I'm up for it! It's a perfect way to end a long day. How was yours?

Cas disappeared for a few minutes before manifesting next to her with a slight gust of wind. He handed her the same piece of paper. Sam had written under her message in pen.

It was okay. We're in Kentucky looking for a case. We drove all night and day. Pretty uneventful except for the couple hours Dean let me drive. Got to finally pick my own music. What about you?

Frankie scribbled her reply in pencil.

Boring day as usual. The group at the theater just finished a show and had to strike the set. That's theatrical talk for "tearing the whole dang thing apart". I had the glorious task of sweeping up the piles of dust and debris afterwards. Things got better when I got home. Cas and I are watching TV right now. We're watching I Love Lucy, my favorite show! I know, I know, it's a bit fluffy for yours and Dean's tastes. Not that I give a hoot!

Cas flew off with the paper, and a few minutes later he reappeared, sitting next to Frankie on the couch with his eyes trained to the TV. He held out the paper to Frankie, who eagerly snatched it.

Oh wow. Yeah, that would piss me off, too! Looks like I'm the lucky one. I'd take hunting ghosts and demons over sweeping up after thespians any day, LOL. I'm not really surprised that that's your favorite show since you like Big Band music and old stuff like that. You're a real old soul, huh? What is it about I Love Lucy that you like so much?

Oh, I don't know. I guess I like its simplicity. Nowadays, show's try so hard to be complex and deep. It just comes off as pretentious to me. But Lucy? Nah. It's a show about this wacky woman and her equally wacky husband as they live with some wacky friends. The comedy and appeal flow from the characters, not so much the plot. It's also very sweet. When I was little, I always wanted a relationship just like Lucy and Ricky had. That seems a bit more impossible these days, but at least I can watch them live out their dreams, you know?

Didn't Lucy and Ricky have a kind of toxic relationship? Don't they always, like, find ways to manipulate the other?

Oh, sure, look at it logically!

Frankie punctuated the sentence with a laughing face.

Well, what kind of shows do you like since you're so knowledgeable on quality programing?

Cas was gone for a bit longer this time. Sam seemed to be taking his time with his answer. The letter came back with a shorter message than expected.

I don't watch a lot of TV. Being on the road so much, you can never really rely on watching the same thing hopping from motel room to motel room. I guess I stick to movies when I flip through channels.

Any movies in particular that you like?

Tough to say. I tend to gravitate to sci-fi stuff, I guess. More mind numbing. Gets me to sleep.

Like Star Wars?

What do I look like, a virgin? I like real sci-fi.

You like Star Wars, don't you?

Shut up.

Such anger, Young Skywalker!

Frankie giggled as Cas sent the paper to Sam. The angel had been reading them as he sent them, and the confused glimmer in his eye told her that he didn't understand the humor in their exchange.

They sent messages back-and-forth for hours. It was well passed midnight when their notes got shorter and sloppier. Their exhaustion was apparent in their handwriting. Frankie's last few messages were slanted due to her lying on her side as she wrote.

Cas informed her that Sam was in a similar position. "I encourage you to make this message your last."

Frankie couldn't have agreed more. She forced herself to sit up, doing so with a groan, and scribbled her final note to her brother. Once she signed her name at the end, she handed the paper – which had been scrawled on front to back – to Cas. The moment it was out of her hand, she dropped onto the couch, faceplanting into the cushion. Cas would later move her to her bed, but before he did so, he would carry out the final delivery.

In an instant, Castiel appeared in Sam's motel room. The walls were dimly illuminated by a single lamp, basking the horizonal form of Sam in an amber glow.

Half of the man's face was buried in a pillow. His back was dipped in a manner that would have resulted in a very uncomfortable crick in the spine upon awakening. His jeans would also award him with discomfort come morning, but the soft snores that gurgled from his parted lips revealed an uncaring mindset. He seemed to be in a rare state of peace.

"Sam."

He jolted awake, hand flailing for the knife under his pillow. He pointed the blade up at the unamused Cas before his brain caught up with him. He sighed, blowing his bangs out of his face, and rolled onto his side.

"Sorry, Cas."

The angel held the worn paper out to him. "Frankie wishes you goodnight."

A smile wriggled out of his grogginess. He reached out for the paper and rolled onto his back, holding it above him.

Sam,

I've loved this Amish-style texting so much! It feels so much more genuine to hear back from you so quickly. Alas, the sandman is a-callin', and I best not keep him waiting. I hope you have a fine sleep, and I wish you all the luck in the world on finding a case.

Love, Frankie

P.S. Tell Dean I said hi, and that I'd love to get a note from him sometime!

The half-smile faded from Sam's cheeks. His eyes burned into her postscript. He knew what he would see when he turned his head, and yet he did so anyway.

Cas fixed him with a stern gaze, eyes hardened by a scold on his tongue. Sam sighed and dropped the note on the bed.

"I know. Yeah, I know, I should tell him." He sat up, his spine popping from its previously twisted position. "It's just- you know what'll happen when I do. When we do. He'll go mad. That's not the kinda Dean Frankie needs breaking down her door. She's just… she's just so happy right now."

"She's happy," Cas affirmed, his voice a near grumble. "But that isn't what is holding you back."

Sam furrowed his brows at Cas, shaking his head. "What're you talking about?"

"It's not her happiness you're worried about tarnishing, but yours." Sam recoiled at the accusation. "Your relationship with Dean is one you have been striving to rebuild, and while I am glad you two have rekindled your brotherly connection, you cannot afford to be selfish. Tell him about her now while you can still maintain what little trust lingers between you two."

Cas didn't give him any room to argue when he flew off back to Frankie's apartment, leaving Sam alone.

He scoffed. What did he know? What, now he was some sort of expert in his relationship with Dean? He had no idea what was at stake with this whole Frankie drop. Dean was a loose cannon when he got angry. The moment they tell him, he'll drive right up to her apartment and tear it brick by brick until he can get to her. He won't rest until he looks into her eyes and screams at her with all the betrayal he feels.

Sam was beginning to believe that there would never come a time when Dean was ready to hear the truth. And what kind of big brother would he be to Frankie if he allowed Dean to hunt her down before she was ready?

If Frankie got the idea that Dean was coming for her, she might flee from her hiding place. She might cut off all ties to Dean. She might cut off all ties to him. And just when they were starting to get along so well.

What kind of big brother would he be if he let that happen?

Sam rolled over and turned off the lamp. He quickly fell into a slumber, the idea of telling Dean drifting farther and farther away from his mind.

He made one more quick glance down the street. Empty, just as it had been for the last hour. He rested his elbow on the door, glimpsing up at the fourth story window, the only room with light leaking out.

He saw movement. Without tearing his gaze from the glass, he grasped the pair of binoculars from his lap. He pressed them to his eyes, peering through to get a clear view into the apartment.

A tall figure, shorter than himself, walked across the window, showing off the profile of a face that he had become more than familiar with in the past year and a half. His black hair was messier than usual. Possibly signs of fatigue. From what he'd witnessed, the angel was beaming in and out of the apartment several times since he'd parked under the broken streetlight.

He appeared to be speaking to someone, reaching out and touching them. After a moment, she came into view, standing from the couch.

She rubbed her eyes with her hand and stretched her right arm out. The sight of the smooth skin replacing another palm and set of fingers would never not greet him with a dull ache in his chest.

But the smile that stretched across her cheeks as she looked up at the angel, muttering an unheard sentiment as he led her into her bedroom, made these late-night excursions worth every minute of exhaustion.

The light flicked off, joining the rest of the building in unanimous darkness. The street was quiet, just as he hoped the Impala would be as he started her engine.

Wrapping his fingers around the steering wheel, Dean spared one more glance up at her dark window. His lips stretched into a half-smile, lingering for a longer moment than he would have allowed had another been present in the Impala.

'Night, Franks.'

He pulled off into the street and headed back to Kentucky, glimpsing at the building in the side mirror until it was completely out of sight.