"Aren't we all bound in one way or another?"
Since Abigael made the decision to place herself into a deep slumber, to come to terms with the knowledge Lucifer provided. All seemed well, and calm. She was coming to terms with the fact of it all. But...
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Dean had a straightforward plan in mind—to search his grandfather's office for any clue about Crowley's whereabouts. Cas teleported with the boys, and I followed suit, dissipating into a swirling cloud of black smoke. Upon arrival, we wasted no time delving into our search, scouring through books, maps, and drawers. The boys illuminated the room with their flashlights, determined to uncover even the darkest corners. I joined Cas in examining some books, although it seemed unlikely we would find anything useful to locate Crowley.
Suddenly, the room's lights switched on, startling everyone. And ascended the stairs was their own Grandfather. He held his gun, primed and ready, but upon recognizing us, he lowered his weapon.
"Can I help you?" Samuel questioned, his expression revealing a hint of anticipation. "What do you want?" His gaze settled on Dean.
"We want to know where Crowley is," Dean's voice resonated with determination.
"If I even knew, why would I tell you?" Samuel displayed no willingness to assist in our search.
"'Cause you're our Grandfather," Dean's response implied that should be reason enough for Samuel to help them.
"Samuel, I'm gonna get my soul back," Sam declared, his confidence evident in his words.
"Who says you can get it back?" Samuel retorted.
"Me," Sam's resolve to reclaim his soul was a positive first step.
"Look, I'd like to help, but I'm sorry-"
"This is your grandson's soul," Dean interrupted Samuel, frustration colouring his tone.
"I can't!" Samuel's voice grew louder as he locked eyes with Dean.
"What is wrong with you?" Dean couldn't comprehend why his grandfather was so unwilling to assist them. They were family, bound by blood. "You want to work for Crowley?" Samuel remained silent in response. "Cas, Abby, can you give us a minute?" Dean turned his head, shifting his gaze between the two of us. Cas didn't utter a word and simply vanished on the spot. However, I lingered, not sure I should leave them alone. "Abby," Dean's voice softened as he addressed me as if giving me permission to leave their side. I nodded gently, as I turned ready to walk away, and in the blink of an eye, my surroundings transformed back to the house we were in.
As I stared at the worn pages of my open grimoire, a mixture of anticipation and caution welled within me. I knew all too well that Crowley, that cunning bastard, would be well aware of me. No doubt, he had covered the place with safety measures, cunningly crafted to render my magic useless. But I was undeterred; I would not be caught off guard. With a determined focus, I flicked through my grimoire, finding a spell that my own mother had written. Within seconds, I found it and quickly began to prepare the ritual myself.
I possessed a talent for retaining the intricate steps and incantations required for my craft. My appreciation was owed to my mother, who diligently imparted her wisdom and tirelessly nurtured my magical abilities. Even as I surpassed her, she remained a guiding force, encouraging me to continually hone my craft. Once I had etched the words into my mind, I pushed my Grimoire farther up the table, creating a cleared space in its wake.
