There are no words (to be spoken of this)

Dean's hands felt numb as he stared at the words.

The piece of paper crinkled in his grip, his knuckles white.

He knew he shouldn't have read it, but he hadn't been able to avert his eyes.

He knew he shouldn't have read it, but it was too late now, far too late.

He stared at the words immortalized in black pen on white paper, in the angel's handwriting. This piece of paper that had looked so unassuming, so innocent where he picked it up from the floor under the war room table.

How should Dean have known that in picking it up, his world would shatter around him.

~oOo~
Or, the one where Dean reads something he shouldn't have read, and everything changes.