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There was a strange note to Dean’s voice. “What? What, Dean?”

“It’s not about Carter,” Dean hurried to say. “I was just thinking about the private. It was just a weird check-up, is all. Don’t worry about it. What’s this about Carter?”

“I haven’t talked to him in days, and that’s not like him. He’s talked to me almost every day. I mean, hell, he showed up randomly a few times last week. All I got was a text Monday morning telling me he was sorry, and now he’s gone dark,” Marco babbled, feeling his throat constrict.

“That’s…” Dean trailed off, murmuring to someone else.

“Is that Sloane?” Marco asked.

“Yeah, he doesn’t go in till later.”

Remembering his position, Marco winced. “Has he heard anything?”

Dean murmured again. There was a pause. Then it grew and grew, becoming thick.

“Dean?” Marco asked, voice quivering.

“Hey,” Dean came back on the line. “I’m coming over...oh, scratch that,we’recoming over.”

“You and Sloane?” Marco asked faintly.

“Yeah. Sit tight, okay? Don’t panic.”

“That’s the worst thing to say to someone about to panic!”

“I know. We’ll be there in, like, thirty minutes, okay?”

“Dean!”

“I know,” Dean said softly. “I know. See you soon.”

The line went dead, and Marco stared at the phone as if he’d never seen it before and put it down. The fear he’d been staving off for days clawed at his throat desperately. He swallowed hard, walked over to the couch, and sat down gently. Marco forced himself to take a deep breath, bowing forward to put his head between his legs and just breathe.

He hadn’t realized how long he’d stayed there until he heard a key in the lock. Marco straightened as the door swung open. Dean, worried and tight-faced, walked in beside Sloane. His face was as grave as Marco had ever seen it.

“Oh, God,” Marco whispered. “What? What happened?”

Even as he felt the terror clawing at his throat, Marco was struck by the way the two of them moved. Almost as one, they stepped into the living space, with Sloane seamlessly slipping around Dean to sit opposite the couch while Dean carefully slid beside Marco.

Sloane took a deep breath. “I need to get something out of the way before I say why we’re here.”

“Jesus,” Marco muttered. “Don’t draw this out, Sloane.”

“I’m not,” Sloane said firmly. “I’m not going to bullshit you or sugarcoat things. You know better than that.”

He did, but that didn’t make the waiting any more bearable. Marco said nothing, instead choosing to nod to show he understood.

“I’m going to tell you what happened, but I need you to understand that until very recently, my hands were tied on the matter. Orders came from General Winter to keep quietuntil...well, until he said so. I didn’t even tell Dean until he asked me, and honestly? I shouldn’t be telling either of you now.”

“So why are you telling me?” Marco asked.

Sloane grimaced. “Because Dean told me how you’ve been or what he could figure out from the brief call anyway. Hell, if I’d known how rough things were for you before, I would have said something.”

“I should have spoken up sooner,” Marco muttered, glancing at Dean.

“Later is better than never,” Dean told him softly.

“Marco,” Sloane said, voice grave.