The sound of the phone ringing cut through the steady patter of rain against the windshield.

A blond man sat behind the steering wheel of his parked rental car, his hand hovering over the vibrating device on the seat beside him.

He stared at it for a moment.

Then, with a sigh, he picked it up.

"Dean, where the hell are you?"

The voice on the other end was equal parts worry and barely restrained fury — and it didn't wait for an answer.

"You went there, didn't you? I told you I'd handle the investigation — why are you already there? You have a shoot next week. What am I supposed to tell the staff?"

Dean said nothing. 

His blue-eyed gaze stayed fixed on the rain streaking down the glass, tracing the paths the drops made as they merged and split and disappeared at the bottom of the window.

The voice on the other end dropped to a frustrated mutter.

"You son of a b—"

Dean let out a long breath. He had heard it loud and clear.

He knew he was in the wrong for leaving without telling anyone. He knew it. 

But Ezra's nagging had a particular quality that grated on his nerves in a way that made it very difficult to feel appropriately guilty about anything.

"Don't worry, Ezra," he said flatly.

It was the only response that came to him, and predictably, it did absolutely nothing to ease his assistant's frustration.

Before Ezra could find his next words, Dean spoke again.

"I'll call you later, Okay."

He ended the call before Ezra had a chance to argue, and dropped the phone back onto the passenger seat without looking at it.

He turned back to the window.

Sadness had settled somewhere behind his eyes — the quiet, heavy kind that doesn't announce itself, the kind that simply sits there and waits. 

The rain outside did nothing to help. 

If anything, it seemed to understand the feeling and was doing its best to match it.

Then a sound broke through the rhythm of the downpour.

A sharp, hollow thud.

Dean frowned and leaned forward, peering through the fogged glass. 

His eyes found a figure on the sidewalk — collapsed, unmoving.

A girl.

He grabbed the umbrella from the back seat and was out of the car before he had finished deciding to move. 

Rain soaked his shoulders in seconds. He didn't notice.

He crossed the wet pavement quickly and crouched down in front of her.

"Are you okay? Can you get up?"

The girl lifted her head slowly, blinking against the rain that soaked her hair and her long eyelashes before Dean covered her with his umbrella. 

She didn't speak — but the slight nod she gave was enough to tell him she wasn't seriously hurt.

Dean reached out toward her hand to help her stand up, but then —

A sharp click cut through the air behind him.

The unmistakable sound of a gun being cocked.

A low, hostile voice followed.

"Step away from her. Now."

Dean's hand froze midair before reaching the girl, eyes wide open. 

Something in his gut told him this was trouble. 

More trouble than he had any way of knowing yet.