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True to my word, I returned the following day, ready to assist Bobby in unravelling the secrets of the book. Armed with my own collection of books that might shed light on the situation. Bobby also mentioned that Cas had revealed to Sam the truth about the past year and a half. The decision to keep Sam in the dark had been short-lived, yet surprisingly, he didn't seem to have a mental breakdown. Just yet.
The process of deciphering the book proved to be quite arduous. Despite pooling our combined knowledge and resources, extracting meaningful information from its pages remained a challenge. Our efforts stretched over weeks, a slow and methodical process. I leaned back in the chair, my gaze fixed on the ceiling, feeling a sense of mental weariness creeping in. There's only so much reading a person can handle.
"You doing alright?" Bobby's voice cut through my thoughts, and I let out an exasperated sigh in response, not quite ready to avert my gaze and face him.
"For once, research isn't exactly thrilling," I replied with a sigh, finally allowing my head to drop and meet Bobby's eyes. "We've been at this for weeks, and I'm craving something more fulfilling." Bobby allowed a gruff chuckle to escape his lips, sympathy evident in his eyes.
"This kind of work can be a real slog," he was referring to the research aspect of Hunting. Abruptly, Bobby's cell phone erupted with a sharp ring, sending vibrations along the desk's surface that I could feel even from my seat. He snatched up the phone, his eyes locking onto the caller ID before he answered the call, the device pressed to his right ear.
"I was just getting ready to dial your number," Bobby commented as Dean's voice crackled through the line. Bobby rose from his seat, his body language indicating that he was fully engaged in relaying our findings – or lack thereof – to Dean. My attention drifted away from their conversation as I mentally disconnected.
I craved a breather from the relentless research, maybe going on a case with the boys would help. Perhaps it could offer me a new angle to ponder over. As I mused about this, Bobby strode back into the living room, his gaze fixed on me.
"He's asking for you," Bobby stated, reaching my chair and extending the phone to me. I accepted it with a curious frown.
"What's up buttercup," I chimed in, a playful grin curving my lips.
"So," Dean's voice carried a mix of uncertainty and desperation as he spoke. While he drawled the word slightly. "I've been thinking about the Tarots you gave me," I recalled the way I handled the situation by giving him the tarots I drew for Sam. "And nothing happened," he continued. "Do you think it's possible that you might be wrong? Could the cards mean something entirely different?" His questions caught me off guard, and for a moment, it felt like an affront to my skills as a witch.
"If you were aiming to insult my craft, a phone call wasn't necessary," I couldn't help the iciness in my response.
"No," Dean quickly defended himself. "I didn't mean it like that," he paused, allowing a sigh to echo through the phone and into my ear. "Look, I don't doubt your skills. I've seen what you can do... But this. I want to believe he's alright," His words carried a mixture of vulnerability and hope.
