She hops up to sit on the desk, and he knows the right moment to move his cup off the surface before it wobbles too much, because she’s always jumping up to sit there - and he doesn’t mind it at all, he just doesn’t think she’d like to sit in coffee any more than he’d want to part with it. He takes a drink from it before he sets it back down once she’s settled and not moving around a whole lot.
>"Business as usual. Stuck in the nuthouse, craving drive-through like you wouldn't believe, apparently sitting out the biggest thing to hit hunting since... well, since ever."
He’s smiling – halfway sympathetic, because, hell yeah, he knows what she means about the cravings, dude; when he gets out of here, he’s getting the biggest, meatiest, cheesiest, most bacon-laden burger he can find, and eating five of them, with fries and some friggin’ pie, and then he’s going to get drunk, and he’ll do all of it while listening to his music at top volume, if he can manage it – and half wryly amused, but it disappears when she gets to the end, because he knows what she’s talking about, and thinking about LuciferSam? the apocalypse in hunting terms makes him feel a little sick, because he doesn’t know how to get Sammy back, and no one else will think twice about killing him if they think they’ve got a good shot at Satan himself.
Might not be sitting it out after all he writes, doing his best to keep the letters on the lines, to make them dark enough to read without making the trembling in his hands very obvious in the letters.