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As the days stretched into weeks, and weeks seamlessly merged into a month, I found myself consumed by an unwavering quest for answers. The search for a way to restore Sam's soul consumed my every waking moment. Countless nights were spent poring over ancient books. Yet, my efforts proved fruitless. The vast expanse of information offered no solace, no remedy to the dire predicament we faced. Even with my extensive understanding of magic, the mystery of reuniting a soul with its vessel remained a mystery.
Cas had mentioned that accomplishing such a feat would require an immense amount of power. Alas, my own raw power, though fully restored, proved insufficient for this extraordinary task. I was grateful, however, for the return of my full strength. Though the interaction Sam and I shared also lingered in my mind, finding it unforgettable. I think it was time to put my books down, and go out there and help them. Perhaps, by working together, we could discover a way to bring Sam's soul back.
Donning my leather jacket, I effortlessly tracked down the boys, their trail leading to an abandoned house. With my powers fully restored, locating them became effortless. In an instant, I transitioned from my apartment, gazing into the flickering flames, to standing outside the decrepit old house. Evidently, their financial troubles had reached a desperate state, driving them to squat in such a place.
Extending my hand toward the doorknob, feeling the cool touch of the metal against my palm, I hesitated as a racket of noise erupted from within.
"But you've been working his beat for months," a voice I never anticipated hearing again—Meg's.
"Doesn't mean we get face time," Sam's reply indicated that Meg must be seeking Crowley, and since they had been assisting him, she believed they would know his whereabouts.
"Invisique," I murmured the incantation under my breath, withdrawing my hand from the doorknob, and blinking inside the house. The scene that unfolded before me revealed Dean and Sam bound in chairs, while Meg, accompanied by three additional demons, held them hostage. I observed Meg directing her gaze toward the bald demon, a hint of something more going on. Though I could have intervened, a hunch told me she posed no real threat here, merely employing scare tactics. Meg took a few steps forward, gracefully positioning herself on Dean's lap.
"Where's he take all those things you snatch up for him?" She inquired politely, albeit mockingly. "I bet you an all-day sucker that's where his majesty's holed up." Dean evaded her question, refusing to answer. "Okay, officially over the foreplay," Meg declared, raising the knife to his throat, applying pressure against his skin, ready to slice if necessary. "Satisfy me, or I please myself," she insisted, determined not to accept refusal. Unexpectedly, Sam burst into laughter at her threat.
"Something funny, Sam?" Dean questioned his brother, lacking any amusement in the situation.
"Yeah, Meg," Sam needled at her.
"Really? 'Cause where I'm sitting—"
"Don't worry. She can't do jack squat," Sam interrupted Dean, finally realizing that Meg harboured no intention of harming them. "She's totally screwed." Meg redirected her gaze toward Dean, pressing the knife a bit deeper.
