Episode: Season 7 - The Mentalists Pt. 1

It'd been a week and a half since he'd been gone. Since he...left. I could barely eat, barely talk. Sam was getting more worried by the second and I don't know how many times he'd apologized in the last week. But over and over, I'd just smiled and waved him off. It wasn't his fault.

I was just feeling sorry for myself in the end. Because I couldn't stop missing him... it was like someone had torn out a chunk of my heart when he wasn't around. Maybe it was because we were soulmates...or maybe just because I was still so in love with him. There's a part of me that always would be. The bells on the door tinkled as Sam and I walked into the diner. Some people glanced our way before turning back around, going back to their conversations.

Another small town, another case. After we'd sat down and ordered, Sam flipped through one of the random magazines that had been lying on our table. I drummed my fingers on the polished wood impatiently, feeling my stomach growl. One thing that Sam didn't understand like Dean did is when I was hungry. Then again, the moose ate salads so what do you expect?

"You wear a suit to get your palm read?" a familiar voice asked suddenly and my heart clenched in my chest as my eyes flicked up to meet emerald orbs.

My mouth went dry and I couldn't speak, a bit shocked to find him here. Dean smiled at Sam and I's surprised expressions, walking around the corner and over to our table.

"Yeah. Not surprised you caught this one. It's on every morning zoo in America. You mind?" he asked before unceremoniously sitting down across from us as he continued talking, "So I, uh, went to the scene. Wires, speakers, enough EMF to make your hair stand up. Don't even think about getting a reading. Oh, and, uh, if this hadn't have been two psychics that bit it, I would've just chalked this up as being, uh, dumb and accidental. And I know, I know, whole town's supposedly calling ghosts. But that takes some serious spell work and serious mojo. The only books this lady had were Oprah junk. When's the last time you actually saw a real psychic? Huh? Pamela? Missouri?"

"Anyway, this is good," he said, gesturing to the both of us sitting here with him, "Um, how you been?"

The waiter came up then, setting down Sam's mug of coffee and my plate of pancakes that were stacked high, drenched in butter and syrup.

"And what can I get for you?" he asked, turning to Dean.

"Uh - Pancakes, side of pig. Coffee black," Dean ordered, facing Sam and me once more.

"Fan-tastic! You are a virile manifestation of the divine," the waiter complimented, smiling before walking off the way he'd come.

"What did he say to me?" Dean asked Sam seriously after the waiter had left.

I snickered, shaking my head at Dean's antics.

"It's funny? Yeah, no, go ahead. Laugh it up, Parker. Hilarious," he grumbled, knocking on the wooden table once for effect.

"Dean-" Sam began to say before his big brother cut him off.

"Oh, he speaks," Dean arched his eyebrows, sarcasm dripping from his words.

"Look-" he started begrudgingly, "Dean, we're both here. The chance any one of us leaving while people are still dying out there?"

Sam made a zero with his hand before he gave out a long sigh, continuing, "Might as well bite the bullet and work with each other on this one,"

"What?!" I spoke up, nearly choking on the word, "Are you crazy?!"

To say I was hurt by what Dean had not only accused us of but for his leaving would be a massive understatement to say the least. Dean glanced my way then, green eyes boring into me but I ignored him.

Dean shook his head adamantly though at Sam's suggestion, "I don't know if I can,"

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest in annoyance.

"I didn't ask to be on this case with you two. I'm not even asking you where you been for the past week and a half-" Dean began to say when I cut him off harshly.

"Good," I snapped, our eyes locking in a glare.

My fingers dug into the table, feeling wood shavings slide up under my fingernails in the process.

"I'm just saying let's try and stop the killings. That's it," Sam intervened, pushing my hands off the table.

Finally, Dean sighed and began to nod, "Okay,"

"Okay? Good."