little clay things

8

Clay Haas + winning me over one line at a time

ft. Nimah Amin being badass

It takes ten minutes of silence after Chuck—God—Chuck has left the room for Dean to speak up again. “Where was it?” It’s the only thing he says, low and quiet, and Sam frowns at his brother in confusion until his gaze happens to wander over to what Dean must be talking about. The only thing he could be talking about. His jacket crumpled up where he’d left it, distractedly tossed onto the table by the library stairs—along with the very precious object he had tucked inside the pocket.

“Fake lining,” Sam says hoarsely, all of his earlier giddiness draining away in the face of his brother’s impending disappointment. “Stitched into the side of my bag. Black thread to match.” He drops his eyes to the war room table. Twiddles his fingers a bit. “You never would have found it.”

“You—” Dean breaks off for a charged minute, the thick silence clogging up the room, and when he speaks again there’s hurt in his tone. “You had it all this time.” Sam does glance up this time, and he finds his brother staring at him like he’d never stopped. Searching his gaze as if to verify the truth of his own suspicions. Sam’s pretty sure that the embarrassed look he gives back down to the map answers the question. “Why didn’t you give it back to me?”

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