❛ ━━━━━━･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜
"WE SHOULD PLAY 'Waterloo.'"
"It's my money, I say we're playing some Zeppelin," Dean argues.
"But you pick the music whenever we drive! Can't I just pick once?" Eleanor protests.
"Nope." He taps a button on the jukebox and the lyrics to 'Stairway to Heaven' fill the diner. Eleanor glares at him as they return to their table but Dean simply smirks.
"I don't see why you said I could help pick when you already knew what you wanted to play," she grumbles, feeling like a small child.
"No, you're right, it's definitely weird...Thanks, Bobby," Sam says into his phone as they approach the table. He clicks off the call and puts his phone in his pocket.
"That Bobby?" Eleanor asks, sitting down across from him.
Sam nods. "He found something in Wyoming." He opens his laptop and begins typing.
"A job?" Dean asks, sitting beside his brother.
"Maybe. Small town, no one's died in the past week and a half."
Dean takes a bite of his burger. "That so unusual?" he asks, mouth full.
"Ew, gross, Dean. Finish chewing before you talk. No one wants to see your half eaten hamburger," Eleanor complains.
Sam ignores them both. "It's how they're not dying. One guy with terminal cancer strolls right out of hospice. Another guy gets capped by a mugger and walks away without a scratch," he explains.
Dean made a point to swallow his food before speaking, looking directly at his sister, who flashes him a fake smile. "Capped in the ass?"
"Police say Mr. Jenkins was shot in the heart at point-blank range by a nine-millimeter," Sam reads from the article.
"And he's alive?" Eleanor asks, taking a sip from her milkshake.
"Locals are saying it's a miracle. It's got to be something nasty, right? I mean, people making deals or something."
His siblings consider it, eating in silence for a moment. "You think?" Dean asks, breaking it.
"I mean, what else would it be?" Eleanor responds.
"I don't know."
"All right then." Sam puts his laptop in his bag. "Get that stuff to go."
Eleanor takes a final sip of her milkshake and sighs. "These stupid monsters are why we can't have nice things."
･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･
"NOW, YOU THREE said you were bloggers?" Jim Jenkins asked.
The siblings sat at his dining room table, his wife and daughter sitting in the other room.
Sam flashed him a smile. "Yes, sir. FlooredbytheLord.com."
"All of God's glory fit to blog," Dean adds.
"Taking special interest in the everyday miracle," Eleanor chimes in.
Sam looks at them and clears his throat. "Um. Some of the people around town are saying what happened to you was a miracle."
Jim nods. "It was. Plain as day."
"How can you be so sure?" Eleanor's pen hovered above the leather-bound notepad she had in hand.
He shrugs. "How else do you explain it? The doctors can't. There's a bullet in my heart, and it's pumping like a piston."
"Well, how do you explain it?" Dean asks.
The man hesitate and looks over at his daughter. "Look, honestly. I was nobody's saint, not exactly father of the year, either. But when that guy shot me and I didn't bleed a drop? I just knew the Lord was giving me a second chance."
"That so?"
"I had this feeling—like angels were watching over me." He pauses and Eleanor nods. "I wouldn't expect you guys to understand."
Dean gave him a tight lipped smile. "Well, we'll just have to try."
"You wouldn't have happened to have swung by a crossroads in the past week or so?" Sam asks.
"No," Jim answered, confused.
"Maybe you met someone? With black eyes? Or red?" he presses.
The man leans forward. "Who'd you guys say you were again?"
Dean looks over at Sam. "Never mind. Thank you for your time." He stands and his siblings follow.
They returned to the motel, then split up. Dean and Eleanor were on research and Sam was following up on a lead at the hospital.
It wasn't long before Sam returned. "That cancer survivor? He was clinically dead, his wife pulled the plug, and now he's taking her out for their twentieth anniversary," he announces as he enters the room.
"Any sign of a deal?" Eleanor asks, looking up from her laptop.
Sam shook his head. He closes the door behind him and sits on the end of one of the beds. "No. What about you guys? Found anyone dying around here?"
"Not since Cole Griffith," Dean speaks up. "He dropped ten days ago. It was the last death I could find."
"So, what are you thinking?"
He shrugs. "Eh, maybe it is what the people say it is." He stands, leaving the laptop open for his siblings to look at.
"Miracles? Dean, our experience, when do miracles just happen?" Sam scoffs.
"He's got a point," Eleanor turns to face her oldest brother. "From what I've learned, nothing is ever this good without some sinister reason."
Her cynicism made him sad. He and Sam knew there was hardly any good in the world, but he wished so badly that at least one of them could break the endless cycle of pessimism.
"Well, there's no deals. There's, uh, no skeevy faith healers." He pours himself a cup of coffee. Eleanor wordlessly hands him a mug and he pours her one too. "I mean, these souls just ain't getting dragged into the light."
Eleanor sips her coffee, thinking. "Maybe that's because there's no one around to carry them."
"What do you mean?" her brothers chorus.
"Well, grim reapers—that's what they do, right? Take souls to the afterlife? So, if death isn't in town..." she trails off.
"Then nobody's dying," Dean finishes. "So what? The local reaper's on strike? Playing the back nine? I don't know, Elle."
"Well, then, let's talk to somebody who might," Sam suggests.
"Well, last I checked, huggy bear ain't available."
Eleanor's eyebrows furrow. "Are you talking about Castiel? Why are you calling him-"
"No, dude, the kid," Sam interrupts.
"Cole? He's dead."
"Exactly. Look, if he was the last person to die around here, then maybe he's seen something," he shrugs. "We should talk to him."
"I love how matter-of-fact you are about that. Strange lives," Dean scoffs and takes another sip of his coffee.
"Do you expect anything less?" Eleanor downed her coffee and placed the mug on the table. "So, when do we leave?"
･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･
FIVE CANDLES WERE arranged around a pentacle drawn on one of Eleanor's old scarves that draped over the grave. Sam places a bundle of sticks in the center.
Dean leaned against a gravestone, flipping through John's journal.
"What's that?" Eleanor asks from her spot beside Cole Griffith's grave.
"Dad's journal."
Her eyebrows furrow. "Dad had a journal?" She didn't realize she had called him 'Dad' until the word slipped from her lips. She wanted to take it back, but didn't.
"Yeah, he wrote up everything from all of his hunts, lots of useful information." Dean held out the journal to her.
She took it and flipped gently through the pages. It was a lot like her own notebook, leather bound and filled with various information from previous hunts. It made her feel slightly sick. She didn't want to be anything like her father. She hands the journal back to Dean.
He flips through the pages until he finds the one with the ritual they needed. "You sure this is gonna work?"
Sam looks up. "No. But if his spirit's around, this should smoke him out." He pours a bottle of herbs Eleanor didn't know the name of into the bowl.
They worked in silence for a few moments until Dean spoke up. "This job is jacked."
"How so?"
"You want me to gank a monster or torch a corpse, hey, let's light it up, right? But this? If we fix whatever this is, people are gonna start dropping dead. Good people."
Eleanor frowns and stands to face her brother. She looks at Sam, who answers before she can. "We don't want them to die, either, Dean, but there's a natural order."
He raises an eyebrow and scoffs. "You're kidding, right?"
"What?"
"You don't see the irony in that? I mean, the three of us, we're like the poster children of the unnatural order. All we do is ditch death."
"Yeah, but the normal rules don't really apply to us, do they?" Sam reasons.
Dean stares at him. "We're no different than anybody else."
"I'm infected with demon blood. You've been to hell."
"And I'm apparently an angel witch," Eleanor says under her breath, taking care that they wouldn't hear her.
"What?"
"Nothing. Talking to myself, yknow, like I do." They give her odd looks but don't say anything.
"Look, I know you want to think of yourself as Joe the Plumber, Dean, but you're not. Neither am I, and neither is Elle. The sooner you accept that, the better off you're gonna be."
Dean looks up. "Ah, Joe the Plumber was a douche."
Eleanor rolls her eyes. "You gonna stop complaining and help us finish this?"
Dean nods and goes to help then when they hear a shout from further away. All three heads turn to see a man with a flashlight stalking towards them.
"What are you doing here?" he demands.
They look at each other, stammering out an answer. "Just take it easy," Sam finally tells him.
"What the hell is this?" He gestures at the pentacle and candles with his flashlight.
"Okay, this is not what it looks like," Eleanor laughs awkward. She tries to put on a charming smile, but she was pretty sure it looked more strained than inviting.
"Really? 'Cause it looks like devil worship."
"What? No! No, this is not devil worship. This...This is...this...this is, uh—" She looks at her brothers for help, but they looked equally like deer in headlights. She sighs. "I don't have a good answer."
The man stares at them. "We're just going to leave," Sam says finally.
"You're not going anywhere." He takes a step forward. "Ever again. Sam." He looks at Dean and his eyes go white.
"Alastair," Dean murmurs. "I thought you got deep fried, extra-crispy."
The demon laughs. "Nah. Just the pediatrician I was riding. His wife's still looking for him. It's hilarious. Anyway." He looks at Sam, grinning at the hunter's obvious anger. "No time to chat. Got a hot date with death."
He flicks his hand and the oldest Winchester goes flying across the graveyard and collides with a gravestone.
"Dean!" Sam calls after him.
Intent on harming Sam, his flicks his hand again, sending Eleanor crashing into an angel statue. The point of its finger stabs into her shoulder and she cries out.
"Elle!"
Alastair turns to Sam and flicks his hand a final time, only for nothing to happen. He tries again but Sam stays firmly planted on the ground. "You're stronger, Sam. You've been soloflexing with your little slut?"
"You have no idea." Sam raises a hand and sends Alastair stumbling backwards. He goes to exorcise him, but the demon flees the man's body. It falls to the ground with a 'thump' as the smoke vanishes into the night air.
Sam runs to his younger sister first. "Ellie, you okay?" He leans down and offers a hand to help her up.
"'m fine," she winces, accepting his hand and pulling herself up. "We should check on Dean." She lets go of Sam's hand and walks toward her oldest brother.
Sam noticed the dark red staining the back of her jacket. "Elle, you're bleeding."
"It's fine. I'm fine." She was more worried about her brother than herself. He was more important than her simple cut. She felt like her shoulder was on fire but it was nothing worth Sam worrying about. Ignoring the pain in her shoulder, she helps Dean stand. "You okay?"
"I think I have a concussion."
"Luckily for you, we went over concussions last week in school." She offered him a smile that turned into a grimace as she moved her shoulder the wrong way.
"Glad you decided to stay in med school," he teases.
"Yeah, I know. It makes it much easier to save your ass."
･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･
ELEANOR SAT ON the edge of the bed where Dean was lying, holding an ice pack to his head. Sam was gone. He always seemed to be leaving her and Dean when they were at motels. They figured he was either with Ruby or on the phone with her, but they didn't make any moves to stop him.
Eleanor finished bandaging the wound on her shoulder as Sam walks in. "How you doing?"
Dean stared up at the ceiling. "I'm in pain, that's how I'm doing. I think I have a concussion," he grumbled.
She downs two pills and holds out the bottle. "You want some Tylenol?"
He sits up and shakes his head. "No thanks, Doc. So, demons, huh?"
"Yeah. So much for miracles," Sam scoffs.
"And what the hell happened with Alastair again?"
"I told you, he tried to fling me or whatever." He flicks his hand in demonstration, and walks over to the coffeemaker. "And it didn't work, so he bailed." Sam dumped coffee grounds into the filter with a shrug.
"Well, how come he couldn't fling you? He chucked you pretty good last time." His older brother's tone was accusing.
Sam turns to face him and pauses before answering. "Got no idea."
"Sam, do me a favor. If you're gonna keep your little secrets, I can't really stop you, but just don't treat me like an idiot, okay?"
"Dean..." Eleanor warns. She wasn't in the mood for another fight.
"Dean, I'm not keeping secrets."
"Mm-hm. Whatever." He didn't sound convinced. Eleanor gives him a harsh look so he changes the subject. "So, did you go back and q-and-a the dead kid?"
The middle Winchester holds up a thin notebook. "Didn't have to. Bobby called. He did some digging. He thinks Elle is right."
Eleanor smirks. "I'm always right."
Sam rolls his eyes and ignores her. "Local reaper's gone. Not just gone—kidnapped."
Her eyebrows furrow and she frowns. "By demons? Why?"
"Listen to this." He opens the notebook and begins to read, "And he bloodied death under the newborn sky—sweet to taste, but bitter when once devoured."
"Swanky. What the hell's that mean?"
"What the hell's swanky mean?" Eleanor questions. Dean didn't answer.
"Well, it's from a very obscure, very arcane version of Revelations."
Eleanor groans and flops back on the bed. She her shoulder explodes with pain and she clenches her teeth to keep from crying out. "Does that mean what I think it means?" she asks, voice strained.
He nods solemnly. "Basically, you kill a reaper under the solstice moon, tomorrow night, by the way, you got yourself a broken seal."
"How do you ice a reaper? You can't kill death," Dean points out.
"Maybe demons can," his sister theorizes. "Where the hell the angels are is what I want to know. We could use their help for once. Just goes to show how little they care."
"It looks like we're gonna have to take care of this one ourselves."
"What are we gonna do, just swing in and save the friendly neighborhood reaper?" Sam asks.
"You got a better idea, I'm all ears."
"Dean, reapers are invisible. The only people that can see them are the dead and the dying," Eleanor reminds him.
"Well, if ghosts are the only ones that can see them..." he trails off. They look at him expectantly. "Then we become ghosts," he tells them with a smirk.
Sam scoffs. "You do have a concussion."
"Sounds crazy, I know."
"It is crazy. You might be insane," Eleanor speaks up. Dean's smirk widens.
"How?" she and Sam chorus.
･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･
"I CAN'T EVEN begin to tell you how crazy you three are," Pamela says as she walks through the door.
Eleanor lights up at the sight of the psychic and goes to hug her. "Pam!"
"Hey, Elle, how ya doing?" She pulls away from the hug as Sam closes the door behind her.
He smiles at here. "Well, Pamela, you're a sight for sore eyes."
Pamela turns in the direction of Sam's voice, pulling down her sunglasses. "Aw, that's sweet, grumpy." She puts her sunglasses back. "What do you say to deaf people?"
The room went quiet until Eleanor broke the silence with an uncomfortable cough. "Which one of you brainiacs came up with astral projection?" Pamela asks, breaking the tension.
Dean raises his hand. It then occurred to him that she couldn't see it. "Yo," he voices.
Pamela grins. "Of course. Chachi."
Dean turns to Eleanor and mouths 'Chachi?' She shrugs.
"So, let's be clear. You want to rip your souls out of your bodies and take a little stroll through the spirit world?"
"Um, yeah, pretty much."
She folds her arms. "Do you have any idea how heavy-duty insane that is?"
Dean shrugs. "Maybe, but that's where the reaper is, so..." he starts.
"So, it's nuts," Pamela finishes.
"Not if you know what you're doing," Eleanor chimes in.
The psychic turned to her. "You don't know what you're doing."
"No, but you do," Dean says, crossing the room to stand by them.
"Yeah, I do. And guess what? I'm sick of being hauled back into your angel-demon, Soc-Greaser crap."
He sighs gently. "Look, I'd love to be kicking back with a cold one, watching Judge Judy, too."
She scoffs and raises an eyebrow. "Nice. More blind jokes?"
"You know what I mean. We're talking the end of the world here, okay? No more tasseled leather pants, no more Ramones CDs, no more nothing," he pauses, "We need your help."
"Alright, I'm in."
Sam walks over and closes the curtains. Eleanor grabs candles from the back of her car and brings them inside, setting them up around the hotel room. Dean lights them as she does. "I'm going with you," she tells them.
"No, you definitely are not," Dean says firmly.
"And why not? Don't say it's because it's dangerous. We've talked about this, you need to stop babying me."
"Eleanor, I'm not going to let you astral project yourself. So many things could go wrong."
"You're astral protecting yourself!" she exclaims in disbelief.
"I'm older than you," he argues, crossing his arms.
She glares at him. "If that's your reason for everything, I swear to God I'll go off hunting on my own."
"Fine, you do th-"
"Eleanor, why don't you stay back with me. I could really use your help," Pamela interrupts.
Eleanor softens. "Fine, whatever. Have fun astral projecting yourselves. Don't die," she grumbles.
She moves two chairs between the beds and helps Pamela over to one of them.
"Tell me something, geniuses. Even if you do break into the veil and you find the reaper, how you gonna save it?" the psychic asks as Sam closes another curtain.
"With style and class," Dean tells her confidently.
Pamela laughs. "You're gonna be two walking pieces of fog who can't touch or move anything. You'll be defenseless, hotshot."
"I seem to recall a bunch of ghosts beating the crap out of us," Sam points out.
"Yeah, well, they had plenty of time to practice."
Dean shrugs, bringing a candle over to one of the nightstands. "Well, then, I guess we got to start cramming."
"Wow, couple of heroes. All right." She pats one of the beds. "Lie down. Close your eyes."
Dean lied down on the bed to the right, Sam on the left. He had to lie diagonally on the bed in order to fit, much to his sister's amusement.
"Animum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis," Pamela chants. The flames around the room flicker. "Okay, guys. That's it. Showtime."
Nothing seemed to happen. Eleanor waited a few moments before asking, "Did it work?"
Pamela nodded and turned to address the air. "All right, so, I'm assuming you're somewhere over the rainbow. Remember I have to bring you back."
She walks over to Sam. "I'll whisper the incantation in your ear." The psychic leans over him and whispers in his ear. Then, she returns to her seat beside Eleanor.
They sat in silence, waiting for Sam and Dean to make their way to Cole Griffith. Eleanor fidgeted with the string bracelets she wore, needing to do something with her hands.
"Alright, spill it, kid," Pamela says after moments of quiet.
"What?" Her hands slow their fidgeting, startled.
"I know something's bothering you. Something you don't want to tell me. Your aura is all gray and moody."
Her heart stops. "It's nothing."
"Bullshit. You can lie to your brothers all you want but don't lie to me."
She knew Pamela would find out eventually, she just wasn't expecting today to be the day. The woman could see right through her. Eleanor didn't know why she thought she could lie.
She takes a deep breath. "I think I know why my magic is different." Pamela was silent, allowing her to speak, so she continues. "My mom told me that my great-grandfather was a nephilim, a half angel. I think that's why I don't need spells to do things. I haven't told anyone. I didn't want to tell you because, well, I know you hate angels."
She bit at her lip, stomach turning as she waited for a response. Pamela stood and walked over to her, taking Eleanor's face gently between her hands. "My problems with the angels have nothing to do with you. I could never hate you for what you are."
Eleanor felt a weight being lifted off her shoulders. Despite her hatred of most physical contact, Pamela had become like family and her hands were comforting. "Really?"
"Really." She smiled softly. "It explains a lot, that's for sure. Now that I know that, I might be able to help you more than I could before. After all of this is over, why don't you come back with me and we can have another training session."
"I'd like that."
"So," she steps away from Eleanor and settles back in one of the chairs, "Have you been practicing?"
"I have. Want me to show you?" Pamela nods and Eleanor walks over to the fridge and grabs a bottle of water.
"I know you can't see anymore but I also know you still sense energy. This is a full bottle of water, heavier than the cup I was practicing with."
She sets the bottle on one of the nightstands and focuses. The bottle shook and began to move across the table. It hit the edge and began to fall, but Eleanor stopped it mid air and brought it back to her hand. "Ta-da!"
Pamela smiles. "I'm so proud of you. That was awesome."
"Thank you." Her grin was unmistakable. She didn't know why, but impressing the psychic meant a lot to her.
･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･
THEY TALKED AND caught up for a while, planning Eleanor's next trip to visit Pamela and chatting about the various things the psychic wanted to teach her.
"I want to show you something I've been working on. I'll be right back." Eleanor walked out to her car to grab some of the empty bottles and cans from Dean's beer she had been saving to practice.
The cold air stung her lungs. Her fingers twitched and inched toward her pocket. It will just be a quick cigarette, she rationalized to herself after moments of internal debate.
She sat on the curb and pulled out the crushed pack of cigarettes and her lighter. She lit the cigarette and pressed it to her lips.
Ten minutes later, the cigarette had been stamped out and she was grabbing empty bottles from the back of the Mustang.
She walks back into the room, excitement filling her chest. She couldn't wait to show Pamela what she had been practicing. Not only could she move things, she could knock them over with balls of light.
Eleanor opens the door to see a demon pull out a knife and stab Pamela in the stomach. The bottles slip out of her hands and crash to the floor. "Pamela!" she screams.
Sam, having been woken up by the psychic, sits up and spots the demon. He raises a hand and flings the demon against the wall. Standing, he exorcises the demon, it's host slumping to the floor.
He turns to Pamela and crouches down to her level. Eleanor stood frozen by the door, unable to stop her world from crashing down around her.
Pamela laughs, shocking both siblings. "What's so funny?" Sam asks.
"I can't die. Not in this town." She moves her hand away from her wound. There was no blood.
"Pamela..." Eleanor's voice was soft as she tried to keep it from breaking.
The woman turns her head in Eleanor's direction. "Quit your worrying, sweetheart. How about you make me a drink, huh?"
"Let me help you, I can probably patch the wound up enough to get you to a hospital."
"Make me a drink, Eleanor," she says more firmly.
Eleanor swallows thickly and goes to make her a drink.
Eleanor brings the drink over to the woman and helps her sit on Dean's bed. "Imum vult decipi, ergo decipiatur. Vis, vis, vis." Pamela finishes the chant and moves to the other bed with Sam's help, allowing Dean his space.
"Hey, we just got to talk to Tessa, that's all. Get her to hold off reaping till we get you better," he promises.
"I'm pretty sure she's started up again."
Eleanor looked down to see blood pouring over the psychic's hand. Pamela takes a drink as Dean sits up.
He sees the blood. "What happened?"
"Dean, where's Tessa?" Sam asks urgently.
"She's..." he trailed off.
Sam frowns and turns toward the dying woman. "Pamela, I'm so sorry."
She shook her head, taking off her sunglasses. "Stop."
"You don't deserve this."
"Yeah, I don't. I told you I didn't want anything to do with this. Do me a favor? Tell that bastard Bobby Singer—to go to hell for ever introducing me to you three in the first place." She starts coughing again.
"Take it easy, Pamela. If it's any consolation, you're going to a better place," Dean tells her gently.
"You're lying." She turns her head toward him. "But what the hell, right? Everybody's got to go sometime." Pamela points at Sam and beckons him over. "Come here."
Sam leans in and she whispers something in his ear.
Pamela starts coughing again. She leans back against the headboard, a trickle of blood coming out of her mouth. Her head slides down against her chest and she stills.
"Pamela!" Dean shouts. Eleanor rushes over to her side.
"Pamela?" Eleanor shook the woman, voice breaking, tears streaming down her face.
"She's gone Elle." Sam places a hand on her shoulder. Eleanor flinches back like he had burned her.
She stands and slowly turns to them. "This is all my fault. Oh God, this is all my fault," she sobs.
"Ellie-"
"Just leave me alone." She walked to the door, wiping angrily at the tears falling down her face.
Sam reaches out and grabs her arm, stopping her from leaving.
"I said leave me alone." The lights in the room flicker.
"Ellie, cmon I know you guys were getting close but this is the job. People die," Dean tries to reason.
"Don't you get it? I should have been there! I could have stopped him. She's dead because of me."
With a 'pop' the lightbulbs around the room explode, glass raining down on the floor. Startled, Sam loosens his grip on Eleanor's arm and she yanks it away. Had Sam looked closer, her would have seen the faint purple glow in her eyes.
She grabbed her keys and darted out the door before they could stop her. Without even bothering to grab her things, she got into her car and drove off, tears still falling down her face.
I didn't even get to say goodbye. I should have been there. She's dead because of me. The last thing she said was that she wished she had never met me. Maybe I destroy everything I touch.
It wasn't long before she felt a presence next to her. "What do you want?"
"I'm sorry about your friend, the psychic."
"She had a name. Pamela Barnes." She didn't look over. "And I don't see why you care, her death was probably part of some grand, righteous plan, right?"
"She's in Heaven."
"She should still be here. She only got into this mess because she helped us. She was supposed to teach me how to use my magic, she was my friend, someone who knew what I was and loved me anyway. And now?" her voice breaks. "She's gone. I should have been there and I wasn't. This is all my fault."
She wipes angrily at her eyes and glances over at the angel. "I know you didn't just come here to apologize, Castiel. That's not you. Spill it."
Disrespect must run in the Winchester family, because he had never been talked to like this by anyone other than Dean. He and his sister didn't seem to care that he was a celestial being, they spoke to him like he was simply an annoyance.
He clears his throat. "I came to warn you."
"Of course you did." Her hands tightened around the steering wheel.
"The forces of Heaven think you're a potential seal."
"I'm sorry, what?"
❛ ━━━━━━･ ❪ ☆ ❫ ･━━━━━━ ❜
AUTHOR'S NOTE: i'm backkkk! so sorry for the wait! i had covid and then major writer's block. it's a bit of a longer chapter, so hopefully this makes up for it! i hope you enjoyed <3
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