Part 2
"They're what?!"
"Here."
"Did they see you?"
"Thankfully, no."
"Were you followed?"
"No. I waited until they left the building before I snuck out. As far as I know, they have no idea I'm right under their noses."
Cas broke away from Frankie and paced the floor between the kitchen and living area. For a few lengthy seconds, they shared in apprehensive silence. Frankie cradled her nub against her stomach, tapping her middle and index fingers anxiously against it.
Cas' feet came to a sudden stop, and he nodded once towards Frankie. "I will go to them and urge them out of town." Frankie blinked to attention. "I will get them to leave."
"You can't," the girl blurted. "If they see you, they'll definitely know something's up. Why are you hanging around domestic Tennessee?"
Cas' eyes drifted pensively to the side, considering her point. "I will tell them that there is important business regarding the Apocalypse far from here."
Frankie's eyes widened under a quirked brow. "Important Apocalypse business. Really? You got a follow up to that? 'Cause they'll be questioning you left and right."
Cas shook his head and sighed in an utterly human manner. "I will make it up as I go. I must do whatever I can to get them away from you, and I will."
Frankie pressed her lips together, the corners making the slightest curl downwards. She was touched, as always, at Cas' determination to keep her safe and sound, but the Cas she knew would think over every detail before pulling the trigger.
She stepped forward and placed her hand on Cas' arm, speaking softly. "That'll just cause more problems than we need, and you know it. I'll tell you what we'll do, alright?" After a moment, Cas turned his head to meet her eye. "Nothing."
"Nothing?" he incredulously scoffed.
"They're here for a ghost, not their sister. They'll take care of this case like they always do. They'll figure out who's dead, find what's keeping him here, and burn him. Then they'll leave. Boom. Two problems solved in one go."
"And what if they see you while you're working? You cannot avoid them while they undergo their investigation, no matter how furtive you think yourself."
"So, I'll call in sick. I'll stay home until they kill the ghost and then go back to work as soon as they're on their way outta town. Easy-peasy."
Cas looked off to the side, brows furrowed and a deeply thoughtful glint in his eye. He was thinking carefully over her plan now, and she was relieved of the return of her friend's intricate analyzing.
"That could work."
"It will work. Wait and see. In just a few short days, Sam and Dean will be out of my life once again."
Cas' brows softened, and the stiffness in his shoulders relaxed. "Alright. I will still monitor where they are lodging to ensure they won't wonder too close." He met her eye and offered a small nod before walking towards the kitchen.
When his back turned, Frankie's smile fell. Her eyes dragged to the floor and a looming ache pulsed in her chest, returning from its absence since its birth in the janitor's closet.
Cas was asleep, softly breathing through his nostrils with a faint scowl on his face. It must have been an unsavory memory.
Frankie turned her head back to the window and tightened her embrace against her knees. The moon was full tonight and casted a bright white blanket over the quiet street outside. Frankie wondered if it was just as bright outside Sam and Dean's window.
She dropped her chin on top of her knees, a long, muted sigh whispering from her nostrils.
After the initial shock of seeing her brothers again in the flesh, what was left was a tug in her heart – a tug not of sadness, but of longing. Frankie was once terrified of facing her brothers again. She thought them furious at her for her many bad decisions, and if they found out she was alive, they would see it as their newfound opportunity to beat her ass for it.
But then Sam's letter fell into her lap, and he told her that they weren't mad at her at all, and instead overjoyed that she had come back into their lives. They wanted her back. And she wanted them back, too.
Frankie glanced over her shoulder, making sure Cas was still asleep, before slowly stepping off the foot of the bed. She tried to keep her footsteps light as she padded into the living area. There was a medium sized bookshelf, about as tall as herself, next to the TV that homed a few cryptozoology books Cas salvaged from Bobby's house as well as the board games he had bought when they first moved into the apartment. She peeled back a book on ghouls and opened the cover.
Sam's first note was resting against the hard cover of the book, flattened and stiff from being pressed against the pages. Frankie plucked the note from the book and returned it to the shelf. She unfolded the paper.
Frankie had most of it memorized by now, but the words were only one thing. The look of his handwriting and the smudges of his hand – and by her tears – were the reason she came back to it for comfort.
Her eyes focused on the lines towards the bottom of the page.
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.
Frankie's thumb idly rubbed the paper as her eyes drifted off to nowhere in particular. She was afraid when she thought they had spotted her. What would they think to suddenly see her after all these yea-… these months? And were they ready for the girl she was now? She wasn't the same Frankie they knew the night she died. She would never be that girl again.
What if… she revealed herself to them?
The thought sent an intense chill up her spine, and she blew out a shaky breath. She was split in twain. On one end, Sam and Dean had forgiven – more or less – her mistakes of the past. They were ready for her to be a part of their lives again. And god, did she want to be a part of their lives again.
But on the other hand, there was Crowley's plan.
Frankie didn't have to make a hypothetical; she knew they wouldn't like it. And she knew they wouldn't stand for her wanting to go through with it.
And when they found out about the demon blood…
"God…," she shakily whispered.
Dean was ready to disown Sam when he was drowning himself in demon blood, and this was his brother of many years. Sam may have a sliver of a chance of understanding her choice to drink Crowley's blood, but Dean…
Yet again, her questionable choices separated her from her family. If only she could help them to understand why-
"Frankie?"
She slapped the note to her chest, standing rigidly. She glanced over her shoulder to find Cas standing in the bedroom's doorway. She righted her head.
"I didn't hear you get up."
"Nor I you. Why are you awake?"
Frankie licked her lips and flicked her eyes to the note flattened against her chest. "Couldn't sleep. Was looking for something to read. Go on back to bed, I'll be back in a second."
She imagined Cas sleepily nodding as she listened to his shoes scuffing with a turn and stepping back to the bed. Frankie swallowed down her dry throat and folded the note back. She returned it to its book and grabbed a random read to mindlessly flip through until she fell asleep.
Frankie was roused from sleep by a persistent buzzing next to her head. She groaned and cracked her eyes open, unsurprised to find Cas missing. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes as she sat up. Her hand fell into her lap when her head turned to the nightstand. Her phone was vibrating almost unceasingly.
She reached for her cellphone and flipped it open to find eleven new text messages, all from Jules. "This can't be good," she groaned. She opened the messages and read them one by one.
DID YOU HEAR?!
OMG WHY IS THIS HAPPENING?
IT HAPPENED AGAIN
ken fell from the catwalks and broke EVERYTHING!
the assistant director!
arms, legs, back, everything!
he's alive though. that's the one good thing.
Frankie, this show is cursed.
I'm serious.
there's no way this is all a coincidence. maybe we should cancel the show.
you awake?
The phone fell into her lap. She rubbed her face, working her fingers against the blooming headache. She just woke up.
Things were getting out of hand. If the show was bothering Etheridge that much, then thing's needed to be taken care of stat. They had to double down on solving the case before someone else winded up hurt or worse.
Cancelling the show wouldn't help anything. It would prolong the deaths, sure, but it was only a matter of time before something else displeased him, sending him on another rampage.
He needed to be stopped as soon as possible, and she had all the evidence she needed to solve the case except the object keeping him here.
Frankie stood from the bed and opened her drawers for suitable clothes to investigate the theater.
Her fingers froze. It all came rushing back to her at once. In order to figure out his trigger object, she had to put herself in her brothers' line of fire.
"Shit," she hissed under her breath. She had all the pieces – she knew who was doing the killing, why, and how to put a stop to it – but she had to wait for them to catch up. And without Etheridge's urn as a huge clue, who's to say how long it will be for them to put it all together? She didn't doubt their abilities in the least, but the next death could be just around the corner. They had to do whatever they could to stop him.
She had to do whatever she could. And she knew what she had to do. Cas wouldn't like it.
She had to help Sam and Dean solve the case.
Frankie leaned against an iron railing that bordered the small man-made lake in the town's center. Children with mouths full of pretzels, couples sharing a hot chocolate, and shopaholics tugging their many full bags of fresh goodies marched to their own beat around the bustling courtyard. Shops and restaurants circled around the huge pond, filled to the brim with autumn cheer.
Frankie, on the other hand, wasn't so cheery, especially since the moment she saw her brothers shuffle into the humble restaurant across the lake. Cas had been, of course, hesitant of the idea of getting so close to them when she still wasn't ready to rejoin them, but she managed to convince him that she'd be careful.
Frankie dragged her eyes from the window of the restaurant to the illuminated screen of her phone. The contact was her brothers' cellphone. The subject was blank. And the only message conveyed was an attachment of the ghost's voice she captured during her investigation. She clicked send before her nerves could hesitate her thumb.
She gripped both ends of her phone and bent them back with a weak grunt. It snapped with a satisfying crunch, the screen immediately dying as if she straight up murdered it. After a brief glance over each shoulder, she dropped the pieces into the lake, watching as they disappeared under the murky, green water. She shrugged her jacket higher against her neck and made her way along the railing, heading to the other side of the lake.
She finally approached the restaurant. As she passed it, she looked into the window and spotted Sam and Dean sitting in a booth to the right of the dining room. She yanked the hood of her dark green jacket over her head, hiding her face.
At special request, Frankie was seated two booths away from her brothers'. She chose the seat that had her back to them. She concealed her voice into a low gravelly tone, much like Cas', and ordered a water. She didn't bother looking at the menu.
"Huh."
"What's with the face, you get a dicpic?"
"What?" Sam scoffed. "No. I just got a weird message on my phone."
"That's what ya get for signing up for dudesnude."
"You signed me up for dudesnude." Frankie was lucky that her water only just got to the table, or else she would have spit it out. "And I've already deleted the account."
"As far as you know."
Sam huffed, clearly annoyed and embarrassed. "This could be serious, Dean."
"Alright, alright. Share with the class."
"I don't recognize the number. And it doesn't say anything, just has an audio attachment."
"Well, open it and see what it says."
Frankie idly sipped her glass of water, trying to appear inconspicuous, as she focused all her attention on the booth behind her.
"I can't really hear anything. It's too loud in here."
"Pass it over. Let me see."
"Are you ready to order?"
Frankie flinched. She snapped her head to the modestly uniformed waiter with a notepad and pen ready in his hand. Frankie nearly huffed herself at the interruption.
"Just- surprise me. Take your pick."
"Um… do you have any allergies?"
"No. Just pick something."
"Alrighty…," the man sourly replied before walking off. Frankie didn't have a clue what he'd bring out, but she was positive it would be spat on.
With the distraction gone, she placed her ears back on Sam and Dean's conversation.
"It's probably nothing. A butt-dial or something."
"Wait. No, there is something. Listen."
There was a pause. She imagined the two leaned over the table with the phone held up to both of their ears.
"Right there. You hear it?"
"Yeah. It's a voice. Really quiet. I think I made out 'ruined'?"
"Yeah. Yeah, 'They ruined'. There's more."
Another pause.
"'They ruined'… something right there, then I think it says 'mine'."
"Okay. So, someone ruined what belonged to whoever's saying this. And whatever's ruined is right there. I know it."
"Could it be… 'throw'?"
"Nah, that ain't it. 'Pro'?"
"How can a 'pro' be ruined, Dean?"
"Drugs and bad branding."
Frankie imagined Sam giving Dean his signature deadpan.
"Wait a minute," Sam muttered. "'Show'. It says 'show'."
"You sure?"
"Well, look at the details. All the attacks were at the theater, all the victims were tied to the current production…"
"So, you're thinkin' what I've been thinkin'."
"That it isn't a human's voice?"
"But a ghost. The ghost."
'Atta boys,' Frankie thought with a smile. They were professionals after all. She didn't doubt their problem-solving skills for a second.
"So, Casper is shirty that his play got an update. We got incentive."
"What we need is who's doing the killing. Whose play is it?"
"Hm… Oh, wait." There was the shuffling noise of Dean reaching into his jacket pocket. "I snagged this when we were sweeping the joint."
"A program," Sam mused. "'A Gentleman's Tumult'."
"God, the title makes me wanna take a nap."
"'Original Script Written by Elijah Q. Etheridge'."
"Guess we pegged our Casper."
"Okay. Etheridge wakes up to find the theater folks changed something in his show, something he didn't like at all."
"He goes postal, killing the people responsible. Or at least breaking every bone in their body. Speaking of which, we need to interview the latest victim later."
"First it was the director, then the composer…"
"Now it's the assistant director… He's going down the chain of who's responsible."
"Who would be next?"
Frankie blinked, grounded back in her own booth. She stared at the table. Who was the next responsible one? She didn't know anyone on the board well enough to judge their authority. Maybe Esme the stage manager? That was the only name she could think of.
"I don't know. But we gotta stop this guy before he kills again."
"First thing's first: we gotta research this Elijah Etheridge. Dig up all we can about who he was."
"And where he was buried."
'He wasn't…'
"I'll stop by the theater. I need to take a look at an original copy of the script and an updated one. See if I can figure out what changes set him off."
'It's a musical now.'
"Right. You do that, and I'll track down our stalker."
Frankie's brows yanked together. She turned her head an inch to hear clearer.
"Stalker?"
"The number you don't recognize? You don't think the ghost sent us that?" Dean sassily quipped. Sam sighed in response. "Someone's trailing us. They know we're on a case. And they're a couple steps ahead."
"Another hunter?"
"Why would they choose to share? You know hunters, dude. They're greedy when it comes to working with others."
"Good point… So, if it's not a hunter, who could be doing this?"
"My honest to god bet is the chiquita at the theater."
"The janitor?"
Dean hummed with a mouthful of his lunch. "She was the first to find the bodies, she's there every day, and you gave her our number. Not to mention you made quite the impression on her," he teased. Frankie stuck out her tongue in a silent gag at the insinuation.
"I did not. Besides, she could be forty for all we know."
"Hey, bonus points for cougars, man."
'Jesus- change the subject!'
"Okay, so, I'll do actual research, and you go try and get lucky with the Hispanic custodian."
"Another excellent plan, Sammy. Pass the ketchup?"
"I don't have it." The clinking of glasses and plates shuffled across the table. "There's none here."
"Hm… Oh, hey, buddy! Hey, you with the green jacket."
Frankie blinked again, this time her eyes widening. She looked down to her sleeve. Dark green. Her face flared red hot.
"Hey, uh, could we steal your ketchup there?" Dean asked, his voice louder as it pointed towards her.
Her head turned, but she caught it before she showed any recognizable features.
"Yeah. You. You mind?"
Her breath cowered in her lungs. 'Be cool, be cool, be cool…' She managed to quickly shake her head and turn back to the table. She grabbed the bottle of ketchup by the wall and gripped it tight, involuntarily. She gulped. 'Okay, wise guy, how do we play this cool?'
"Uh… you alright there, pal?"
Frankie let out a long, slow breath, gripping the bottle tighter. In one quick, fluid motion, she swung her arm out and held the bottle towards Dean, keeping her head glued to her table. He irately sighed, and she heard footsteps approach.
The hairs on the back of her neck stood at attention. Her breath burned in her chest, and she nearly dropped the bottle and booked it right there, but Dean snatched it before she could flee.
"Thanks," he grunted, irritated. His footsteps took him back to the booth.
Frankie grabbed the table and leaned forward. She released the hostage breath as quietly as she could. Too close. Much too close. Not her best idea.
As inconspicuously as she could, she rose from the booth and walked across the dining room, passing the waiter with her food and a bitter expression, and left the restaurant.
'Cas,' she prayed, taking a turn down the sidewalk.
'Frankie.'
'I need you to do something for me.'
'I am at your command.'
Frankie's brows furrowed as her head drew back with a start. There was no reason for that particular series of words to strike an odd chord within her, and she didn't have time to investigate why. She brushed off the phrase and ignored the faint heat in her cheeks.
'Sam and Dean are at a restaurant in town called 'Floyds'. I need you to track them and report where they go.'
'I'm on it.'
'Ten-four, good buddy.'
She barreled through the front doors, her heart pounding in her ears. She didn't slow as she crossed the lobby. That is, until the theater's door opened with an unmistakable screech. She turned her head, and her feet stopped.
"Oh, hey, Frankie," Wynonna greeted, removing one of her earbuds and letting it hang over her turtleneck sweater.
Despite being in a rush, Frankie was relieved to spot a familiar face that she was on good terms with. She swiveled around and approached the woman with haste. "Wynonna, I need your help."
She was met with a concerned frown. The woman removed her other earbud. "Name it."
"There's two FBI agents investigating the accidents. I can't go into any details, but let's just say we got history, and it would majorly fuck things up if they found out I'm here."
"Damn, girl! The hell got you in trouble with the feds?!" Frankie ignored the way Wynonna's eyes flicked down to her nub.
"Look, I can't be seen by these guys. Okay? If they do, my life in this town is over, and I like who I am here. Just… can you, I dunno, spread the word to not use my real name with these dudes? Just say my name is… eh, Carly. Carly works."
Wynonna's narrowed brows and small frown told Frankie that she was battling with whether or not she should lie to government officials – especially since the situation suggested that Frankie had committed a huge crime – but she took a deep breath and hesitantly nodded.
"Of course. Count on me."
"Wynonna," Frankie grabbed the woman's hand and squeezed, "you are a saint." All too quickly, Frankie turned and marched into the hall, hoping that her friend's friend wouldn't change her mind.
'Frankie.'
'Talk to me, Cas.'
'Sam and Dean are on the move. They are headed for the theater.'
'Fuck… Okay, alright, alright. Thanks, Cas. I'll move quick.'
Frankie looked down both ends of the hall as she approached the office door. The coast was clear, and she lifted her knuckles to wrap on the door. She checked the hall again, and in that time no response was heard from within the room. She dropped her hand to the doorknob, holding her breath, and wiggled it experimentally, finding it open.
She cracked the door open and peered inside. The lights were off. Frankie took her chance and slid into the dark room, quietly shutting the door behind her. She flicked on the lights. The room was neat – Esme's doing no doubt. She spotted a filing cabinet behind the desk wedged between a bookcase and a tall, wide locker.
She cursed under her breath when she found the cabinet locked. She took a step back, her hand on her hip, staring down at the silver lock. Her eyes roamed around the room and landed on the desk drawers. She opened them one-by-one, sticking her fingers under papers and office supplies, until a silver key shimmered in the fluorescent lights. She snatched it and shoved it into each lock on the cabinet until she found the employee and instructor files.
Frankie flicked through pottery teachers, yoga instructors, and resume editors until she found her file. It had a dark tan envelope, as opposed to the yellow manilla folders on the others, and had the cleaning company's logo at the top right.
Frankie shoved the file into the back of her pants. She closed the cabinet's drawers and locked them back before hiding the key back where she found it.
As she slid the desk drawer closed, her ears picked up the unmistakable sound of footsteps approaching from the hall. An electric surge of panic crawled up her spine. She had an overbearing feeling that they were headed straight for the office.
She whipped her head around the room, hustling her brain to find a way to hide herself. Her first option was the one she jumped for, and that was to shove herself into the large locker. Instant relief washed over her when she found it to be unlocked. She tucked herself inside and gently closed the doors behind her.
It was a photo finish. The office door creaked open barely a second after Frankie curled into the locker. She trapped her panicked panting behind tight lips, not trusting her nostrils to contain the sound of heavy breathing.
Luck granted her a small relief in that whoever opened the door merely flicked off the lights and closed the door behind them. Frankie released the air sizzling her lungs, the exhale hissing against the metal walls of the locker.
And then she heard keys lock the office door.
"What…"
She shoved the locker doors open and stepped back into the room, now dark once more. She hurried to the door and turned the doorknob.
'Yup. Fucking locked.'
She pawed for a manual lock on and above the knob only to come up short. She was trapped. Trapped inside a room that Sam and Dean could easily enter by picking the lock. And they were heading there now.
Frankie raked her fingers through her hair. This was bad.
There was a part of her – not a very small one – that almost wanted them to find her. Then she'd be done with all the hiding and conniving. It was becoming much too exhausting to keep up the charade. But she still couldn't trust the guilt within her to not ruin her relationship with them again. Once was hard enough.
She took in a deep breath, trying to suck in as much calming air as possible. She closed her eyes. 'Cas?' she prayed.
'What's wrong?'
'I'm locked in a room at the theater. In the main office. I don't think I can get out from the inside.'
Cas didn't respond.
'Cas? Cas?!'
"Frankie?"
Her eyes snapped open, pointing at the door. "Cas?"
"I'm going to get you out."
The breath that blew from Frankie's mouth turned into a chuckle at the end. He was the best. "Don't destroy anything. It worked well last time, but it's not necessary now."
"That's alleviating as there is not a car in the hallway." Frankie smiled and shook her head. "I will unlock the door."
Before Frankie could ask how he expected to do that, the doorknob clicked. The door swung open, nearly hitting her face. Cas stood on the other side, his face scrunched in a concerned frown.
Frankie moved forward and patted his shoulder. "Cas, you rock. Let's get outta here."
"Agreed."
The two moved down the hall at a quick pace, Cas leading the way. The restaurant wasn't far from the community center. Judging their speed, they could get there at any-
"Cas?"
Frankie's feet scuffed against the carpet just behind a corner. She swallowed a gasp and pressed against the wall that the angel just rounded.
Frankie could only gape at Cas' profile, eyes wide in surprise and stance rigid. "Sam… Dean…," he muttered.
"What're you doing here?" Sam asked, voice quick and confused.
"I, uh…"
Frankie's heart pounded painfully in her chest. Her breath hastened as she held it inside her. Her hand slid up to her mouth, shoving any sounds blowing from her mouth back inside. Her eyes bulged and pointed to the wall across from her.
"You 'uh' what?" Dean pressed.
"Cas… are you following us?"
"No," the angel grunted quickly.
"Well, this's quite the coincidence, isn't it?" Dean drawled, his voice brimming with suspicion.
Frankie shut her eyes and released the long breath in her lungs. This was it. The jig was up. Ready or not, it was time to face her brothers, to look into their eyes for the first time since her death. At least she didn't have to hide anymore.
"I was hoping you wouldn't discover me lurking in the shadows," Cas admitted, defeat present in his tone and his posture. "I'm not following you, but I am checking in on you."
Frankie turned her head, meeting the same sideways visage of her friend.
"Checking in?" Sam echoed.
"Why?" Dean asked doubtfully.
Cas' eyes fell to the floor with a sorrowful look. Frankie was debating with herself over whether the look was genuine or deception. "The planet is unstable. Enemies are around every corner, and we appear to be losing this war. As you know, I have become an adversary against my own family." His gaze lifted to the two men across from him, eyes narrowed. "You are all I have left. I don't wish to lose you, too. I check in on those close to me when I get a moment of freedom."
Frankie's heart squeezed. Her lips pressed together in a sympathetic frown.
"Huh," Sam uttered.
"Okay…," Dean followed, his voice lacking the stern tone from before. "Uh, well, stop." Frankie tilted her head in time with Cas. "I mean, that's… I appreciate that- we appreciate it, we do. But, uh, you don't need to worry about us. We'll be okay."
"Plus… it's a little creepy. You watching us from the shadows."
"Yeah, no more stalking."
"Hey… were you the one who texted us?"
Frankie's head straightened. Her heartbeat picked up again. 'Say 'yes'. It'll get them off my trail!'
"Um… yes. I did. Elijah Etheridge's ghost is haunting this building."
"Yeah, we know. Um, why didn't you use your phone?"
"What?"
"You used a burner phone to text us. What happened to your cell?" Dean questioned.
"I… misplaced it."
'Change the subject. Tell them about the urn!'
"You won't find his body in a plot. He was cremated."
"Cremated? You sure?" Sam asked.
"Yes. He used to have an urn in the lobby. It was destroyed right before the deaths ensued."
"Hm… might have triggered his vengefulness."
"Wow, Cas. Maybe you should take the reins on this one," Dean quipped. "I mean, you've already done all the work."
"I'm no hunter."
There was a brief pause, no doubt awkwardness from the angel missing the joke. "Right. We'll take it from here, bud. Thanks for snagging us the data."
"My pleasure. Goodbye."
Cas disappeared before Frankie's eyes. She blinked, and she blinked again. Wait… he didn't just leave her there. He didn't just leave her!
A hand clasped over her mouth. Her gasp was muffled, as was her yelp when another hand grasped her jacket and yanked her into a dark room. She was pulled against a body, someone's chest flush against her back. Her eyes flicked down to the tan sleeve attached to the muting hand. She sighed in relief.
The door she was pulled through was cracked, letting in light from the hallway. She and Cas stayed silent as Sam and Dean whispered outside.
"That was weird," Sam said.
"Too weird. Cas doesn't usually act like that. All squirrely and stuff."
"Well… maybe it has something to do with him losing his powers. He has been acting different for a while."
"Yeah, but this is different different. He's hiding something."
"Hiding what?"
Frankie pressed closer against Cas' chest, almost like she was shielding him from her brothers.
"Never mind. Let's just find what's keeping Etheridge here and torch the bastard."
Sam and Dean finally rounded the corner and walked past the room. Frankie caught the briefest of glimpses of their old jackets as they walked away. Her heart pulsed in her chest with excitement, but that excitement turned to guilty sadness in an instant.
Cas removed his hand from her mouth. She puffed out the small breath that was held inside. She turned around to face him.
Cas, a firm glare on his face, place his hand on her shoulder. Frankie furrowed her brows but never got a chance to question him. The world around her changed with a powerful gust of wind.
Light stung her eyes. After a few blinks, she saw that she was home, in the middle of her apartment. Her eyes fell to the floor.
"Cas?!"
The angel was on his back, unconscious, a trickle of blood slithering from his nose.
"Dammit, Castiel! You can't do that!" she yelled, kneeling down to her friend. She pawed his chest and forehead, unsure of what to do to bring him out of it. Her mouth tightened – as did her chest – as she realized that she simply had to wait for him to get his strength back and wake up on his own.
With struggle, she managed to drag him by the coat to the couch and lift him onto the cushions. Hopefully, he would wake up well-rested, but she didn't have much faith in that idea.
Frankie leaned over Cas' unconscious body with a damp cloth in her hand. She gently dabbed a corner under his nostrils, carefully cleaning the blood from his pale skin. As her fingers angled the cloth, her eyes drifted upward, tracing the frozen look of strain etched into his face. It didn't take much at all to exhaust him now. Frankie had a looming fear that he was more human than angel at this point.
She shook her head softly. "What are we gunna do with you…"
The less than luxurious apartment was failing at maintaining heat again, so Frankie draped a blanket over Cas' body. She settled another pillow under his head and turned off the lights in the room aside from a single lamp.
She stood over the angel's sleeping form, her hand on her hip. She'd done just about all she could until he woke up. Sighing, she lifted her head. She caught a glimpse of the cluttered kitchen. She thought it best to occupy her time, to push out the worry she felt for her friend.
Frankie worked slowly, careful to not make noisy clattering as she moved utensils and pots into the sink. She picked up a saucepan resting on the countertop, and behind it was a glaring red light blinking back at her. Frankie furrowed her brows at the gray, square answering machine. She rarely ever got any messages.
She gently set the pan into the sink, wiped her hand on her jeans, and pressed the play button.
"You have one new message," the feminine robotic voice droned. Frankie turned away from the device and started tossing trash into the garbage can.
"Hey, girl, it's Jules." Frankie arched a brow, but kept her focus on her task. "So, uh… yeah, I've been calling your cell, like, a million times, and you're not answering, so I guess you're lying in a ditch somewhere." She snorted as she rinsed the cloth with Cas' blood under the faucet. "Call me ASAP. Unless your phone broke. I told you to upgrade to a BlackBerry! Anyway, I'll be at the theater today rehearsing. They haven't shut us down yet! You can, y'know, stop by, let me know you're not murdered. Okay, love ya, girl. Talk to you soon. I hope."
"End of message."
Frankie slowly turned to the answering machine, glaring warily at the device. She didn't like the idea of her friend being alone with a ghost in the building. She knew, however, that Etheridge wouldn't touch her; he had no reason to. She forced relief into her brain and went back to cleaning the kitchen.
She periodically glanced at Cas, disappointed but unsurprised to find him unmoved. The kitchen was gradually looking like someone lived there. Frankie cracked her back with a grunt. She stepped into the living area to straighten up a bit, and to check on Cas again.
She picked up her purse and kicked a pair of shoes over beside the front door. She lifted the purse's strap and hung it on the hook next to her backpack. She took a moment to brush her fingers over the fraying fabric, smiling softly. She didn't own a lot of nice things like purses growing up. Then again, she didn't go out with friends to restaurants living in Alabama, either.
Her smile widened at the memory. Despite the obvious interruption, it was a nice night. She got to learn more about the people Jules hung out with. People who may one day become her own friends.
Her eyes dropped to the floor. She blinked idly as her mind roamed free.
Her brows narrowed. The curve in her lips slowly inverted, turning into a deep frown that faintly creased her cheeks. Her eyes flicked back and forth across the floor, her mind now racing.
Her brain ignited. Her lips parted, a soft gasp sucking into her lungs.
"Fuck… oh fuck!"
The answer was in front of her this whole time. They had given her the answer before anyone had even been hurt. That night at the restaurant, the group told her everything, and now they had given her the answer to the question that gnawed at the back of her neck for days.
She knew who was next.
Frankie whipped around, stumbling over her feet, before catching herself on the back of the couch. Her eyes skimmed over Cas' entire body, checking to make sure everything was alright, before she shoved herself from the sofa. She sprinted back to the door, snatched her backpack, and flung the door open, slamming it on her way out.
'Oh god… my lungs are on fire… remember, Frankie, when we talked about joining a gym? And you said, 'why bother'? This is why. This is fucking why.'
She stumbled to a stop at the base of the staircase decorating the center's entrance. Her hand gripped her knee as she wheezed through a burning throat. She was so close. She had to keep pushing. What if she was already too late?
She forced herself to stand straight. She looked over her shoulder, checking to make sure no one saw her fighting to breathe, and that was when she saw the Impala. Her brows cinched and sloped.
If she ran inside, Sam and Dean were sure to see her. But her friend was in danger. Jules was all that mattered.
Her legs shook like gelatin as she hurried up the steps. She burst through the front door and wasted no time in marching to the theater's doors. Sam and Dean were nowhere in the lobby to be seen.
One of the doors was cracked when she reached it. She yanked it open and entered, throwing her eyes to the stage. Jules was centerstage, her golden hair gleaming like a halo under the single spotlight. She wore a fitted black frock coat and a faded top hat as she recited a verse of an upbeat song with a monotonous voice, gesturing widely across the audience.
Frankie made the smallest utterance of a relieved sigh until it was cut off by a metallic screech. Her eyes climbed up to the lanterns positioned above the stage. One was jerking precariously from side to side, detaching with every twitch.
Frankie squealed, a failed attempt to call out to the girl onstage. She coughed through a raspy throat, raw from running to the rescue. Her hacking caught Jules' attention. The girl broke character and flattened a hand above her eyes, peering through the light.
"Ju-… Jules!" Frankie sputtered. She dragged her legs forward. They flared with protest, but the quickly rising adrenaline pumped Frankie's muscles forward.
"Frankie?"
She vaulted the stage, rolling onto the apron. A raspy grunt blew from her mouth as she lay motionless on the wooden platform. Her muscles had given up, overexerted from the leap.
"Oh my god, are you okay?!"
Frankie's eyes pointed to the light fixture, hanging by a single, thin cable, until a smokey gray mist formed above it. Her blurry eyes caught the slightest glimpse of a spectral figure before the fixture popped out of its plug. It fell from the ceiling, descending towards Jules.
Like a fire lit under her feet, Frankie rolled and sprang forward, leaping at Jules like a feral puma. The blonde victim yelped at the tackle and groaned as her assailant's body dropped on top of her.
The deafening crash flinched Frankie's muscles, and she gripped Jules tighter, shielding her from flying glass. She panted against fabric and skin, holding her friend firm in her arms. Her ears were ringing, but when she regained her hearing, all she heard was the panicked gasping of Jules. Fearing that she was crushing her, Frankie hurried to sit up.
Jules lay blinking towards the ceiling before slowly, shakily, lifting her head. Her wide eyes pointed to the light fixture, crumpled and shredded beyond repair. Right where she was standing.
Frankie breathed a long and drawn-out sigh. If she had been a fraction too slow…
Her eyes were heavy, but she forced them open to look at Jules. The blonde's bulging gaze was on her, mouth agape.
Between pants, Frankie managed a brief smile. "I got your message…"
Jules' eyes dragged back to the lantern. The corner of her lips curled upwards. She coughed out a chuckle before it immediately died in her chest. "What…"
"I know it's gunna sound crazy," Frankie started, lifting her hand in a pacifying gesture, "but this theater is haunted, and the ghost is the one killing everybody. And… you're next."
"Holy shit… I knew it!"
Frankie drew back, face blanking. "Not the reaction I expected…"
Jules sat up, rubbing her face. "I've been coming here for years, and I always knew there was something haunting this place. It's Etheridge, right?"
"Uh… yeah."
"I knew it. Mona owes me so much money."
"Did-Did you miss the part where I said it's trying to kill you?"
Jules gaped at the pile of broken metal and splintered wood. "Right… that is a problem." She scooted away from the light that nearly crushed her before standing to her feet. "I mean, I know I talked a lot of crap about that guy, but why does he want to kill me?"
Frankie moved to stand, too, but her wobbly legs stopped that idea as soon as she tried. "Etheridge is going after the people responsible for changing his show. When we ate at that restaurant, Elias said you were the one who brought up the idea to turn A Gentleman's Tumult into a musical. It was your idea to change it."
Jules' eyes progressively widened as Frankie spoke. "So… first it was the director… then the composer… then the assistant director…"
"Now it's the star."
Jules backed up, her eyes darting aimlessly across the stage. "What-What do we do? Can we just leave?"
Frankie shook her head. "There's a chance it'll follow you wherever you go. Besides, you can't avoid this place forever. You'd miss it too much." Jules somberly nodded. "I know how to get rid of him. It's just a matter of finding what's keeping him here and destroying it."
Jules held her arms tightly, a fearful frown creasing her face. She met Frankie's eyes and nodded once. "I trust you." Frankie smiled warily and nodded back.
Jules helped Frankie to her feet. On her way up, Frankie noticed the top hat Jules was wearing on the floor behind her. She stooped down and picked it up, holding it out to the blonde once she was standing straight. The girl smiled lopsidedly as she took it.
"Thanks. Though I wouldn't have minded if this got crushed. Ugly old thing. I don't think it's been washed in two hundred years."
Frankie furrowed her brows. She glanced down at the graying hat. Her eyes narrowed for a moment before gaping wide.
"Frankie!"
Jules yanked her forward a split-second before another light fixture fell from the ceiling. Jules held Frankie close, and the latter knew based on the burning of her bleeding ankles from flying glass that the light would have been a killer.
"Move!" Frankie yelled, pushing Jules towards the wings. The blonde sprinted to the door with the illuminated "EXIT" sign above it. She rammed against the handle only to find it locked. She gave another forceful shove to no avail. "It's locking the doors. We have to go somewhere else."
"Where?! The only places left are the seats or the catwalk!"
Frankie whipped towards the auditorium, darting her eyes over the red velvet seats. The ghostly visage of Etheridge loomed in the aisle, scowling at the two girls.
"Catwalk it is!"
Frankie grabbed Jules' hand and tugged the girl behind her. She dashed to a black, metallic ladder leading up to the elevated platforms. Halfway up the ladder was a rounded gate, placed there to prevent someone from falling. Seemed safe enough…
"Come on! Head up!" she ordered.
"No, you go first." Jules vaguely gestured to Frankie's missing hand. "I'll be right behind you."
Frankie looked into Jules' dark brown eyes, wide with panic. She looked at her wavy blonde hair, still gleaming in the minimal light of backstage. She looked at the determined curl of her lips set in a frown. She looked at Jules, but she saw Jo.
She saw Jo on the day they went to Carthage. The day she made Frankie go up the ladder first. The day she fell to her death. The day Frankie failed to save her.
"No. You first. That's an order."
Jules looked taken aback for a moment, but when the lights began to flicker relentlessly, she rushed up the metal bars. Frankie followed behind, much slower. Her arms blazed halfway up the ladder, but she gritted her teeth against the pain. Jules leaned over the platform and held out her hands. Frankie stared at her outstretched palms, and she couldn't help the intrusive thought that this was the last thing Jo saw before…
Frankie clenched her jaw and growled as she clamped her hand around Jules'. The blonde yanked her up with both hands until Frankie's belly slid over the gridded platform. Frankie grabbed the railing and hoisted to her feet. She peered over the side, searching for Etheridge. He disappeared from the aisle.
"Frankie!"
The brunette glanced at Jules, then followed her line of sight. There was Etheridge, standing at the other side of the catwalk on a wooden platform. Frankie quickly shrugged off her backpack and reached inside, never taking her eyes off the ghost. She took out a canister of salt and held it up to Jules.
"Take this. If he gets near you, splash it anywhere on his body."
"Salt? Why salt?"
"They were all out of pepper." Frankie took out her own canister and put her bag back on. She drilled her glower into Etheridge, but his eyes were trained to the girl at her side. She adjusted her grip on the canister, waiting – aching – for him to make his move.
But he didn't move. He stood at the other side, motionless, glaring. He obviously wanted to come closer; she could tell by the wrathful look in his sunken eyes. But he didn't.
"Something's wrong. He's not advancing."
"B-But that's a good thing, right?"
Frankie flicked her eyes around their surroundings. She was missing something. She traced the pattern of the grid under their feet, looped her gaze around the coils of cables, and ran her eyes over the railing of the catwalk. She narrowed her eyes and brushed her knuckles over the railing. She gave it a quick sniff test.
"Iron… The catwalk's made of iron!"
"Yeah, so?!"
"Ghosts can't touch it. As long as we're here, he can't attack."
"Oh… well, that's good. But, uh… how are we getting down?"
"Working on it!" Frankie leaned over the railing, spotting the hat on the stage. She cursed, gripping the canister tighter. That had to be his trigger object. She needed to get down there. Maybe if she climbed down and Jules stayed, they would have a chance. It was her he was trying to kill, not Frankie, and he couldn't get to Jules as long as she stayed on the catwalk.
She jumped out of her head at Jules' scream. Frankie whipped around, shoulders rigid. The blonde was on her back, a cable coiled tightly around her leg. She jerked forward, her body sliding across the catwalk towards Etheridge. He scowled as his extended hand turned, commanding the cable.
Frankie leapt at Jules, skidding on her knees as she grasped the girl's jacket. She tugged against Etheridge's cable, and he yanked back just as hard.
"Ow, ow, ow, ow, ow!" Jules squealed, victim of the strangest game of tug-o-war.
A gunshot exploded just next to Frankie's ear. She shrilly gasped, flinching away from the deafening bang. She peaked down to the auditorium.
Sam and Dean stood in the aisle, arms loaded with shotguns. "Don't worry!" the former called. "We're on our way!"
"Oh, not now. Not now!"
Etheridge yanked Jules forward, taking Frankie with her. She hauled the blonde back, kicking her feet against the grid platform.
"There!" Dean grunted.
Frankie had just inched her head towards the man when a second gunshot hit the railing just above her head, the bullet ricocheting with a spark. Why were they shooting at her?!
"Shoot him! Over there!" Jules angrily shrieked, pointing her other foot towards Etheridge. "On the wood!"
Frankie flinched at the next gunshot, but thankfully it was aimed at the real threat. Etheridge stumbled back at the near hit, dropping his hand and control on the cable. Jules scrambled to unwrap her leg from the cord.
"I'm coming up! Hang on!" Sam called.
Panic sparked in Frankie, but she forced her focus on the only thing that mattered. "Is your leg okay?" she asked Jules.
"Yeah. I-It's fine. I think. Let's just get down."
Frankie swallowed. Time for a reunion.
She helped Jules to her feet. Frankie looked over the railing. Dean was still in the aisle, his shotgun pointed at Etheridge. Sam was rushing to the ladder in the opposite wing of the one she and Jules had ascended. Frankie turned to the wing they came from. In the corner of her eye, it nearly looked like Dean shifted his head to them. She pressed forward, moving behind Jules as they headed for their ladder. She took note of her friend's slight limp, guilt pooling in her chest.
Sam shouted. Frankie snapped her head over her shoulder to see him soar through the air and land into the sea of velvet chairs. His body sprawled out over a few seats – some definitely broken – before rolling into the floor. Dean shouted after him, rushing to his brother's aid, only to be shoved back by an unseen force. His back hit the brown carpet hard, his breathy grunt echoing through the theater. A gray cloud materialized in the aisle before Etheridge took his form.
Frankie gladly seized the open window. The ghost's attention was on her brothers. That gave her time to get Jules the hell out of there.
They reached the ladder, Jules going first again, and Frankie descending after her. She was faster going down, and Jules caught her when her feet touched the ground. She gripped her hands on Frankie's shoulders, giving them a squeeze, a silent question of if she was okay. Frankie nodded, and grabbed one of Jules' hands, dragging her to the stage.
Frankie threw her gaze towards the aisle. Etheridge had thrown Sam and Dean into the lobby, and the three were hashing it out just outside the theater's doors. Dean's body flew into one of them, and he had immediately pushed himself to his feet to jump back into the fight. The blow had adjusted the door, and it closed behind them. At least they had privacy now.
Frankie and Jules rushed to the hat beside the broken lanterns. Frankie snatched the garment and twisted it in her hand. "Did this belong to Etheridge?"
"Yeah. Its authentic. He wore it in every show. The tradition's carried on since then."
Frankie nodded. This was their best bet. And if it wasn't right…
She dropped it at their feet and opened her canister with her teeth. She sprinkled salt over the hat, soaking every crevasse with tiny grains.
Jules gave out a guttural yelp. Frankie twisted around, her eyes going wide at the sight. A cable descending from the catwalk curled around her neck, and she was jerked into the air. Her feet kicked out frantically, and her hands grasped desperately at the cable constricting her throat.
Frankie dropped her gaze, searching frantically for Etheridge. He stood on the stage, his sunken gray eyes scowling at her. Frankie bellowed a deep snarl. She threw her backpack off and sank her hand into it. She unveiled an iron crowbar like Excalibur and held it over her thigh as she marched froward.
Etheridge held out his other hand, thrusting his extended fingers at her. She held on tight to the crowbar, expecting to be thrown back into the wing.
But she didn't budge. There wasn't even a gust of wind. Etheridge's eyes blanked, his bushy black brows furrowing and creasing his wrinkly forehead. Frankie cocked her head and raised the crowbar readily over her shoulder.
"Batter up, bitch."
She swung wide and firm at his head. The moment the iron touched his cheek, he vanished into a cloud of gray smoke. The cable suspending Jules in the air slackened, and the girl fell back down to the stage. Frankie dropped the crowbar and held her arms out under the falling blonde. She braced herself at the last second before Jules landed hard on top of Frankie.
She fell on her back, but Jules landed safely in her arms. Only the pain of incoming contusions throbbed on Frankie's body, no broken bones. She sat up, lifting her hand to Jules' neck. It was red with deep, dark ridges where the cable squeezed her.
"You alright?!" she breathily asked through mild panting.
The blonde gazed awestruck into Frankie's eyes. She shook her head, and Frankie felt that guilt within her flare, but it was ceased when the girl spoke in a raspy voice. "My hero…"
She grabbed Frankie's head in her hands and planted a drawn-out kiss on her cheek. Frankie's face flushed, and the rosy shade of her cheeks was well noticed by Jules when she pulled back.
Frankie sputtered a chuckle and averted her eyes. "W-Well, I'm not yet. We still have to burn the hat."
Jules got off Frankie's body and helped the girl to her feet. The brunette returned to her backpack and fetched a lighter. She ignited it and held it above the salt-covered top hat.
"Frankie!" Jules gasped. Frankie lifted her eyes, landing on Etheridge. He moved forward, prepared to take his last stand against her, but Frankie merely smirked and dropped the lighter.
The flame ignited the hat. The old wool of the garment burned like a dream, and the ghostly figure of Etheridge released a pitiful screech as he himself kindled into a column of fire. He dissolved into embers before leaving the planet for good.
Frankie glanced at Jules. The blonde stared ahead, eyes wide and filled with a dozen unspoken questions. Frankie smiled and stared ahead, too. Her eyes landed on the auditorium's doors. Her smile fell.
"Shit… Uh, okay, look. I don't have time to explain, but those guys can't know I'm here. I need you to take credit for all this." She gestured to the burning hat at their feet.
"Take credit? What-What do I say?"
Frankie bit her lip as she thought, but she only needed a moment. "Tell them you read the Supernatural books. They'll know what it means."
Jules exuded confusion, but she nodded her head, nonetheless. Frankie scurried to the nearest wing and concealed behind the thick, black curtain.
Her intuition proved reliable as only a minute later did Sam and Dean enter the theater, guns at the ready. Frankie held her breath. She expected them to ask, "Where's the other one?" Even flat-out saying, "Where's Frankie?" but they didn't.
"The ghost?" was all that Sam asked, the question offered to Jules.
The blonde narrowed her brows, puzzled, and pointed to the hat. "It… died?"
Frankie thought it rude to facepalm despite really wanting to.
She heard two pairs of footsteps travel across the brown carpet of the auditorium. "You set that on fire?" Dean asked, no doubt gesturing to the burning hat with his shotgun.
"Yep."
"How'd you know how to do that?" Sam question suspiciously.
"Isn't it obvious?" she asked. She shrugged and crossed her arms. "I read the Supernatural books."
Frankie smiled at her friend. She should have never doubted an actor to play her alibi.
"Great," Sam huffed.
"Guess you want an autograph, huh?" Dean snarked.
Jules arched a brow and dipped her head. "Do you?"
There was a small pause, one of which Frankie assumed was filled with her brothers sharing a signature look with each other.
"I'm good," Dean answered.
Jules nodded once. "Then so am I."
Frankie bit her lip to muffle her snicker.
"Those marks on your neck look rough," Sam noted. Jules brushed her fingers over the blemishes and winced. "We'll give you a ride to the hospital."
Jules flicked her eyes to Frankie as inconspicuously as she could. Frankie nodded with a small smile. Her friend turned back to Sam and Dean and accepted their offer, making her way off the stage.
"So, should we just leave this burning hat on a wooden stage?" she asked. Their voices faded the closer they got to the doors.
"In our line of work, we call that 'not our problem'," Dean quipped. She heard the faintest sound of Sam's snort before the doors closed behind them.
Frankie counted a full minute before inching her head around the curtain. The coast was clear. All at once, the gravity of the event weighed down on her. She released a prolonged sigh as she sank to her knees.
Despite the emotional toll, things went out pretty freakin' great. The ghost was dead, Jules was alive, and her brothers didn't seem to notice her at all. Could it be possible that… everything worked out? It was unbelievable.
Frankie gave another sigh, this one passing through a smile. She lifted from the floor and extinguished the hat. She began cleaning up the mess. She was still the janitor.
Cas groaned as he rubbed his forehead in tiny circles. Frankie rounded the couch and held out her palm, two white pills resting in the center. "Here. They'll help ease the headache."
"I'm still an angel," he sighed, voice gravelly and rough from his coma. "I would require an entire pharmacy's supply of ibuprofen. This will pass."
Frankie shrugged and popped the capsules into her own mouth, swallowing them dry. She dropped onto the couch next to Cas, bobbing slightly on top of the cushion.
The angel angled his head towards the girl, but kept his eyes shut under furrowed brows. "So, the ghost was destroyed properly?"
"Yup. We witnessed him blaze into a fiery inferno before our eyes. Just in time, too. I tired out way too easily. I wouldn't have been able to hold out for much longer."
"Do not berate yourself. It has been a long time since you were prepared for such a task. But you at least proved that you can still hold your own. I never doubted you."
She didn't feel as touched by the compliment, because she knew she really couldn't have held her own. Not if things had gone down like they were supposed to. That moment when Etheridge tried to push her back but couldn't had not left the forefront of her mind since she left the theater. She didn't pretend to wonder why he hadn't been able to. There was only one answer. That being said, she had yet another conflict with whether or not she should stop drinking Crowley's blood.
Frankie hiked her legs onto the couch and sat on her feet. She leaned against the arm of the sofa. "Yeah, well, let's not make this a regular thing. I'm still supposed to be straying from danger, remember?"
"Your performance to that extent has been lackluster."
"Ooh, so cranky. Grumpy Cas is rude."
Cas finally cracked his eyes open in a weak glare at her jesting. She replied by sticking her tongue out at him.
The angel closed his eyes once more and leaned his head back on the cushion. "What happened to Sam and Dean after that?"
"Well," Frankie sighed, "they took Jules to the hospital and disappeared. I haven't seen them since."
"And they never saw you?"
"No." Frankie's eyes fell to her knees. There was that ache again. "I thought maybe Dean had at one point, but he never acknowledged that someone else had been there. So, I guess that means the mission was a success."
"Hopefully one of many to come," Cas quietly grumbled, his voice weak and lacking any of his usual vague enthusiasm. Frankie half-smirked and stretched her legs out to rest on his lap. He let out a mild grunt of disapproval, but didn't budge.
"You just focus on getting better. We can pick up from there," she simpered, sinking deeper against the couch's arm and shutting her eyes. Now that she finally had a chance to rest, her weariness was quickly catching up to her.
"What was that?"
She mumbled her own groan of protest as she forced her eyes open again. Cas was alert, his head straight and gaze focused. If he had been a cat, his ears would have been straight and forward.
"What was what?"
"I heard something…" He twisted his body towards her and looked over his shoulder at the front door. "There."
Frankie followed his gaze with cinched brows, but they arched when she spotted what caught his attention. A white, rectangular card had been slipped under the door. Frankie's heart leapt in her chest, it already being a step ahead of her brain. She swung her legs off Cas and paced to the door. She grabbed the card and slowly lifted it to her face. It was a note, written in pen by an unfamiliar hand.
Thanks for the help, Franks.
Her brain was alight, alarms of both good and panicked origins ringing within her skull. She should have trusted her intuition. It was becoming pretty reliable nowadays.
But despite the battle ensuing in her mind, her cheeks burned with a smile, and her breath puffed out in a chuckle. That small cough of laughter turned into a giddy snicker as she pressed the note to her forehead, shaking her head.
Her mind blanked, hushing, at a familiar sound humming from outside. A sound she knew well, one she could never forget. A sound that brought her joy no matter the circumstance.
She padded over to the window just in time to catch a glimpse of the Impala, barely basked in an orange streetlight, as she rumbled down the street, disappearing into the black night like a shadow. Like a phantom.
Her smile overtook her entire face, glistening her eyes. The ache in her chest melted, filling with a warmth that had been long missing and was tenderly welcomed back.
"Anytime, guys."
A/N: And thus concludes The Secret Life of Frankie! Thank you all so much for sticking with this story. I know many of you have been waiting for the actual sequel to come out, but I appreciate your patience and attention more than you could possibly fathom. And speaking of the sequel, it will be coming out sooner than you may think. Keep an eye out on Christmas Eve ;)
Much love from ya girl. I'll see y'all real soon!