The Short Second Life of Mil Winchester - Book 2

My Heart Will Go On

A/N: You know how holidays normally mean lots of time for writing... yeah, it's wrong. I'm busier than I was during exam period

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MY HEART WILL GO ON

Bobby nursed a glass of whiskey, looking very small at his desk as he surrounded himself with books. The poor guy had taken his oldest friend's death hard - we all had, but Bobby had taken to grieving in his own manner, doing simply nothing. It'd been a few days since we'd last stopped by, but in that time I didn't think he'd moved except to refill his glass. He hadn't even changed his clothes. My brothers and I had dealt as we tended to, by throwing ourselves into hunting. In the space of a week we'd already dispatched a vengeful spirit, and taken out a couple little acheri demons whom had been terrorising a town. I hadn't wanted to. I'd wanted to stay here and comfort my bereaving godfather, but Bobby'd kicked me out twice. Actually, I was kinda surprised we hadn't been hustled out the door yet, but to be honest I wasn't sure if Bobby even knew we were here.

"Say something," Sam hissed.

"No. You," Dean whispered, staring directly at me.

"No. You," I hissed.

Ahh.

We all held out fists for rock-paper-scissors. We played silently, though by now the game was a little rigged. As always, Sam threw paper. So Dean and I retaliated by playing scissors. Sam grumbled. He always seemed stunned that he'd lost, but really he should learn to vary his tactic.

Sam cleared his throat awkwardly. "Uh..."

"You two just gonna stand there like the ugly girl at the prom, or you gonna pitch in?" Bobby snapped. Oh so that mausoleum of books was actually work. "This so-called Eve, mother of whatever, ain't gonna gank herself. What's wrong with you three?"

"Bobby, you haven't slept in days," I said.

"I sleep," Bobby grunted, with a vague glare in my direction. "What are you, my wife now?"

No, I just freaking care about you. "I'm just saying that, you know, taking five might be a good thing."

"For whom?"

"Look, Bobby," Sam sighed. "It was - it was tough for all of us, seeing Rufus go like that."

"You think this -? This ain't about Rufus."

Really? Then what was it about.

"Bobby, he wasn't just a poker buddy," Dean said.

"You know when I knew Rufus was done for?" Bobby grunted in response, head buried again in a book. "The day I met him. The only question was, who first - him or me? Now, you want to stand there and therapise, or you want to get me some coffee?" Really? A coffee run? Sam, Dean, and I exchanged a look. "Make it Irish."

Guess we had no choice. I turned and walked out into the kitchen, hearing Dean and Sam following me. They stood like shadows as I fetched a mug and boiled the kettle for Bobby's coffee.

"Well, he's doing fantastic," Dean muttered behind me, whilst I measured in a few tablespoons of coffee powder.

"Yeah, this isn't about Rufus at all," Sam agreed. The kettle dinged whilst he spoke, and I poured the steaming water into the mug.

"Well, what do you want to do?" Dean asked. "I mean, we can't just sit here and watch him poop out his liver." Dean finished off with a glower in my direction, as right now I was measuring out two parts of the little whiskey Bobby had left. Hey, he did ask for Irish!