The Short Second Life of Mil Winchester - Book 2

You Can't Handle the Truth

A/N: Hey Millers! Hope you enjoy the newest instalment! Please remember to keep voting on both this and Life and Lies, so we can have a shot at the Watty Awards! Shout out to all you supportive fans, both new and old. Hands up if you've been here since the beginning?

Anyway, enjoy!

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YOU CAN'T HANDLE THE TRUTH

One-armed, I shut the car door, fisting my newspaper, and approached the spiky-haired form I knew was Dean, sitting on a park bench with his back to me and speaking intently into his cellphone.

"I know what I saw, Bobby. He threw me to that vamp, he almost got Mil killed by that wendigo. I'm telling you, it's not my brother." Yeah - last week we'd faced (and eventually killed) the alpha wendigo, but it'd been a sketchy process. I'd gotten my cast off literally a day before we left on the hunt... only to wind up being used as bait by Sam, captured by the damn wendigo, and having that very same arm broken all over again. Great turn out. Thanks, Sam. Sure, I was a little mad, but it was part of the job. Somehow it always came down to me to be used as bait; I just hadn't been careful enough. Dean, on the other hand, was pretty pissed.

"Course I called Cas," Dean retorted in response to whatever Bobby'd said. "He's not answering. Screw him. I can't wait anymore." Dean scoffed, mimicking: "Professional? He watched me get turned!... Damn it, Bobby, yes. I know. We're talking about doing something about this, and fast. It's not just the vamp or the wendigo, okay? He has been different from the jump... Are you?"

There was a pause. Dean scoffed again. "I don't even want to ride in the same car with him, much less work a damn case."

As he hung up, I cleared my throat, announcing my presence to my brother. "Dean?"

He turned, startled, but quickly composed himself. What, thought I was Sam or something? I perched myself on the arm of the bench whilst Dean watched me with concerned eyes. "You okay?"

I glanced down at the fresh cast on my arm. "Yeah. I'm fine." It was, of course, a lie. I hedged. "How are you?"

Dean looked away, chuckling darkly under his breath.

Right, that's how we all were.

"What were you talking about?" I asked, though I already knew the answer. Had to get him to talk somehow. "Sam?"

Dean looked left and right. I glanced over my shoulder to see Sam half-way across the park, still waiting in line at the hotdog vendor to get our lunch.

"You haven't noticed anything a little... off about him?" Dean asked pointedly.

"If you're talking about last week, Dean, I'm fine," I said firmly, for the millionth time. "No foul. It's just the grim perks of the job."

"He got your arm broken, again!" Dean argued.

"And it could'a been anyone," I pointed out. "At any time. I don't blame Sam." Dean cocked an eyebrow in disbelief. "Seriously," I stressed. "I blame myself. I was too reckless, didn't take enough care for my arm. Serves me right, if you ask me." I forced a chuckle, but it came out weak.

"He marched you straight into that nest!"

I shrugged pointedly. "Somebody had to be the bait."

"He was supposed to watch out for you," Dean said, hands balled into fists at his side. He was really working himself up over this, which was a little odd. "I told him!"

"You know, it's a little hard to cover somebody else's back when you're worrying about protecting your own," I pointed out, as nonchalantly as I could muster.