With a grim look on her face and her hands stuffed deeply into her pockets, tightly gripping the brass knuckle rings she’d found in her bag, Mary had been staring into the Impala’s empty driver’s seat. She wasn’t sure who belonged in that seat the most. Was it John, who’d just brought it home one day, boasting and grinning over a car that probably that wasn’t as Family Partridge as she’d hoped? Or was it her son, who embraced that car as if it was his second home, and a fully-fledged member of his extended family?
Good evening, Mary.
Her grimness disappeared, making way for a soft smile. “Castiel.”
I should know- She quickly swallowed those unspoken words, and smiled again. She should’ve known. Where he liked to go. The friends he had. Instead of getting to know him, she’d chosen to chase her husband’s ghost. “How are we doing this?” she asked instead.