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chapter forty-two , Children Shouldn't Play With Dead Things
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Athena keeps her good eye on the rushed words that were written across her notebook. She was sitting on the bench quietly reading the words she's been writing lately about her father's death and what happened. Sam was crouched in front of his mother's grave while Dean was far away from it. He was standing beside the bench Athena was sitting on. The only thing that kept it from becoming an awkward silence is the fact that Athena was softly murmuring her words.
Athena knew why Dean was close to her. Because he wanted to talk. He felt guilty, and the three siblings knew it. After the last case, Dean had realized just how much he took his grief out on others and how much he still wanted to run away from it. He was envious that Athena and Sam were able to grieve in such a healthy manner. What Dean didn't know was that Athena was hardly dealing with any feelings at all. She was, as what any Winchester would say "fine".
"Whatcha reading?"
Athena keeps her good eye on her notebook. "Uh, just notes I've been working on."
Dean frowns and hums softly. "Oh, well. Is it for education or..."
Athena shakes her head, "No, it's for my thoughts. Whenever they pop into my head, I write them down."
"What? Like even when you're sleeping?" Dean asks.
"Uh, no." Athena snorts. "I'm sleeping when I'm sleeping."
Dean chuckles, "No, I mean, do you just wake up from your sleep."
"Oh. Yeah, most of my thinking happens when I'm sleeping." Athena shrugs.
"Your eye bags are getting bigger." Dean states. "You're not sleeping."
"Yes, I am."
"Athena, why do you carry that thermos around all the time?" Dean folds his arms.
"So I can drink my whiskey from it without you suspecting anything." Athena finally looks at her brother with a deadpan expression. "What do you think it's for?"
"Not whiskey that's for sure." Dean folds his arms.
Athena sighs, "No, shit, Sherlock." She huffs. "It's for coffee."
