Loud rock music blared from Claire's room. The door was locked, which didn't surprise Gavin much. He sighed, and knocked again.

"Claire, let me in," he called.

After a few moments of no answer, he shook his head, pulling a credit card out of his pocket and using it to jimmie the door open.

Claire didn't look at him. She was curled up on her bed, arms wrapped around her knees and face buried against them. Gavin closed the door behind him and turned the music down, sitting on the edge of the bed.

"It's not their fault," Claire said quietly after a moment. "I know that. I just wanted someone to blame."

"Blame the Darkness," Gavin glanced at her. "Blame Lucifer."

"I blame God," Claire replied. "He doesn't care about us. Any of us. If he did, Cas would be fine. My parents would be alive. Alex would be with her mom and dad and Sara's mom would still be alive . . ." she sniffed. "I'm bitter and angry but I love my family. I do. I love Jody and Alex and Sara and the boys and everyone. And I'm so grateful for everything they've done. But things could be so different."

"You can't let the 'what if's' run your life. What if I'd gotten on that boat? What if Castiel hadn't come back into your life? All these questions are just things that can't be answered. So we've got to concentrate on the present."

Claire sat up, crossing her legs and glancing towards him. "Why do you have to be so philosophical? It makes me look bad."

"Makes me look smart," Gavin grinned.

"You're not allowed to be attractive and smart," Claire said lowly, her eyes glancing over his and towards is lips.

"Did you just admit that I'm attractive?" Gavin asked quietly, leaning in closer.

"Did you think I thought you weren't?"

"I just wanted to make sure I heard right." Their faces were so close, their noses and cheeks were almost touching. Claire could feel his breath and her heart raced.

"I have to tell you something," Gavin whispered.

Her heart beat even faster, if possible. "Okay," she whispered back.

Gavin grinned. "I still think the Beatles are better than the Stones."

Claire pulled away, rolling her eyes and punching his shoulder. He laughed and grabbed his shoulder, rubbing it as Claire stood.

"Come on," she said, wiping any remaining tears from her face. "Let's go. I gotta do damage control."

My Dear Sara,

Watching you play is the highlight of my day. Though I admit it worries me some that you don't play with the other children in the park, you seem so very content to play on your own. You're so creative! I love making flower crowns with you – your favorite flowers are carnations, especially the red ones.

They're your father's favorite, too. He used to bring me huge bouquets of white carnations whenever he would visit. I do miss him. You're starting to look like him a bit – you have his eyes. More so you look like your grandmother.

She stopped by a few days ago and I must admit I'm glad to see her go. Please don't think me a terrible person but she's quite unsettling. I don't think she's even seen your father in . . . well, in a very long time. We'll talk about that more when you're older. How she found out about you, I haven't a clue. She wanted you to go with her, she said she could offer you 'more'. Perhaps it was selfish of me but I simply can't let you go. You're my whole world, sweet heart. Whatever would I do without you?

I try to write to you as often as I can. I hope maybe one day I can give you this diary on your sixteenth birthday! It will definitely be full by then – I may need a few more journals! But now it's time for us to have our lunch, and I packed your favorites.

Mummy loves you, Sara. And Daddy does, too. I promise we'll all be together one day.

All my love,

Mum.

Sara had read the pages over and over again. Every time she read one of her mother's ramblings or stories, she could picture her, sitting on a park bench while Sara played close by. The sun was shining and she feel the warmth of it. It was a wonderful thought, one Sara clung to when she was missing her mother.

She sat up from her bed, yawning. It was past midnight and she was starting to feel drowsy. She stretched, laying the diary on her nightstand, then sighing when it slid off the nightstand and onto the floor.

She swooped down to pick it up, frowning when she noticed that the back cover of the diary had a slit in it, with the corner of something poking out. She found that the cover lifted, and she blinked in surprise when she found a small stack of memorabilia. There was a picture of a newborn baby, wrapped in a dark pink blanket, curly red hair pressed against her head under her hat. It took Sara a moment to realize it was her – she'd never seen a picture of herself as a baby. Her mother was always taking pictures, but when she died, everyone was taken from the apartment by the landlord – the only thing that had been given to Sara was a suitcase of clothes, a pillow, and a toothbrush. She'd managed to grab a few photos of her mother but didn't have time to search for anything else.

Under the picture of baby Sara was, to Sara's surprise, a photo of Crowley. He wasn't aware of the photo being taken, apparently, as he sat on a park bench, probably waiting for Regina.

There were several other photos, too – all of Sara, some with Regina in them.

Under the photos were a few other bits and pieces – a pink ribbon Sara wore in her hair in some of the photos, a dried, white carnation. Sara frowned, though, then she found a small business card – Hyde Park Private Detective Agency. Why would her mother need a private detective? To look for her father?

She put the card aside – she'd call tomorrow. They might not even still be open – it had been almost 12 years, after all.

Yet, as she lay down, she just couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.