The next morning, Sam was awoken by Dean's shocked voice saying a single word: "Eggs?"
Sam blinked a few times before he made sense of what he was looking at. On the night stand in front of his face was a boiled egg in an egg cup. A small silver spoon lay next to it. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes, to find Dean examining his own egg.
"Dean, what on earth–"
"Don't ask me, Sammy. I just woke up." Dean gave his egg a rough poke, but nothing happened. "Think they're legit?"
"Why would––" Sam interrupted himself to get up and pad across to check the door to their room. It hadn't been tampered with, which left only one real possibility to his mind. "The door's still locked, so I'm guessing it was an angel. And Castiel hasn't been around much lately, so that leaves..."
"Gabriel." Dean snorted. "Why did he bring us breakfast? And more importantly, couldn't he have fetched me a bagel and some coffee too?"
Sam risked cracking his egg open with the provided spoon, but there were no explosions or other unpleasant consequences, and it appeared to be a totally normal egg. All the same, he wasn't about to eat food that materialized out of nowhere in a locked hotel room, so against Dean's protestations he threw away both eggs and they set out to find their breakfast somewhere else.
They picked up their investigations where they'd left off, heading over to Neil Delacroix's house once more. Seeing as Dean's FBI-investigator approach hadn't gotten them anywhere yesterday, the plan today was to try something a bit sneakier. Dean stayed out of sight in the car while Sam went and knocked on the door, playing the role of Hannah's stricken cousin who'd just gotten into town after hearing the news.
Mrs. Delacroix wasn't the type of person who smiled, but she managed to be welcoming enough to a complete stranger. Sam had enough on-the-job acting experience by this point that he could have given a convincing portrayal of a grieving and confused relative in his sleep.
"I'm sorry to come to you..." Sam muttered over the cup of tea he'd been offered. "I just... no one else around here really knew her, you know?"
"I was under the impression she had plenty of friends," Mrs. Delacroix replied, pouring some tea for her son. Sam thought it unlikely that the boy would drink it, and sure enough, he accepted it and placed it on the end table next to his chair without taking a sip.
"Well, yes," Sam extemporized. "She was always popular at school. Everyone loved Hannah. But she must have been closest to you, Neil." A shrug was his only answer. Neil hadn't said two words in the past ten minutes. Sam decided to go out on a limb. "I can't believe I don't even have a photograph to remember her by," he said in as pained a tone as he could muster up. "I don't suppose..."
Mrs. Delacroix rose to the bait. "Neil, you've got some lovely ones from New Year's still. Don't you think you could part with one of them?"
Neil mumbled something that could have been "OK" and got up, heading down the hall.
"I'll come with you," Sam said quickly, not caring if it seemed weird. At this point, he felt like his only chance was to get the kid alone.
Neil didn't argue, but just headed for a room at the end of the hall. Sam followed him in, closing the door carefully after them. While Neil dug through a desk drawer, Sam scanned the room quickly with a practiced gaze. Nothing that really looked out of the ordinary for a mostly-absent college student's room. As Neil turned toward him with a handful of photos, though, Sam noticed a large curved shard of pottery on the floor by the desk. "Looks like you broke something."
He bent and reached for it, but Neil was faster, dashing a hand in to pick it up first. "Don't touch it!" His eyes widened a bit, as if he were surprised by his own vehemence. "I mean, don't worry about that. It's not important."
It was too late, though. Sam's interest was piqued. "Why not? What is it?"
"It's not––" Neil's gaze fell. "I don't know what it is. I found it."
"Can I see it?" By "see" Sam of course meant "touch", and Neil knew this. With a small sigh, he held out the shard, and Sam took it carefully. He immediately knew why the boy hadn't wanted him to touch it. It felt weird. Physically, it was like a piece of porcelain, but with an inner warmth to it that made it feel alive. Sam stared at the dark bluish-brown surface, almost expecting to feel it move beneath his fingers.
"Where did you find this?" he asked quietly.
Neil's voice was low as well, but he didn't hesitate to answer. The words spilled out as if he'd been wanting to say them to someone. "I found it there, where it happened. Where––where I found Hannah. It was under the tree, and it... I know this sounds weird, but it was glowing. I don't know why I took it. But listen: I don't think a bear killed my girlfriend. I don't know what it was, but..."
"It's all right." Sam could hear Mrs. Delacroix's footsteps coming along the corridor, and he knew they had no time to spare. "I know. I believe you. I'm going to figure out what really happened. But you have to let me take this."
Neil looked torn, but he could hear his mother approaching as well, and after a moment he bit his lip and nodded. "Okay."
***
When Sam returned to the car, his head was buzzing with excitement. Even just resting his hand against the outside of his breast pocket which contained the strange shard, he could feel its inexplicable warmth. When he explained this new development to Dean, however, his brother was less than enthusiastic. "Seriously, Sam? Some weird piece of crap that this guy picked up off the ground, and you think it's going to help us find and kill a monster?"
"Dean, it was under the tree. You know what else was under the tree? A couple of pints of Hannah's blood. This is our crime scene, and we have to treat it like one."
"I'm not saying we shouldn't! I'm just saying it sounds pretty far-fetched to me. And anyway, why was the guy so gung-ho to just hand it over to you? I talked to him for like an hour yesterday and got nothing."
Sam took a deep breath. "Okay, I'll admit I don't have an answer for that. But I'm not complaining. I mean, maybe it's nothing, but it's worth looking into at least. Who knows, it could be an important clue."
"Or it could just be a wild goose chase," Dean shot back.
"Did somebody mention geese?"
The question emanated from the back seat, and the brothers groaned in unison. "Gabriel!"
"Because if so," the archangel mused aloud, "I guess I know what to get you for breakfast tomorrow. Regular chicken eggs aren't good enough for the Winchesters anymore, are they? I'll admit goose eggs are tastier, but you know what's the best? Dodo eggs. Man, those things were delicious! Now that I think about it, I probably shouldn't have eaten quite so many. That's what you call 'killing the goose that lays the golden egg'. Now there are none left, and I have to make do with emu eggs." He sighed, sounding very put-upon, and then suddenly brightened up. "Did you know they're blue? Not like a robin's egg, but really dark. They're beautiful."
"Gabriel?" Sam interrupted. "Why are you babbling about eggs?"
"Oh, no reason. I actually came to bring you this. You left it under your pillow. The maid would have swept it away if I hadn't gotten there first." Gabriel leaned forward between the front seats, over Sam's shoulder, and tucked something small into his breast pocket, next to the shard. Sam hadn't seen what it was, but he didn't need to – his stomach gave a jump as he remembered the mysterious feather from last night. It was true that it had completely slipped his mind that morning. Now he found himself oddly tongue-tied at the sensation of the archangel's fingers slipping deftly into his pocket, moving the material of his shirt ever so slightly against his chest. He could feel the soft warmth of breath in his ear. "There you go. Don't lose it again, I don't give those out to just anyone." And before Sam's mouth had started working again or his brain had thought up a dry retort, the backseat was empty.
And the weirdest part was that Dean didn't say anything, not even his usual griping about Gabriel. He just slid his eyes over to Sam and then back to the road, with that slight twitch in his jaw that usually meant he was either angry or trying not to laugh.
***