The Short Second Life of Mil Winchester - Book 2

BONUS CHAPTER: The Life and Lies of Dean Winchester

THE LIFE AND LIES OF DEAN WINCHESTER

(Companion to the Life and Lies of Mil Winchester - final chapter)

My best friend was dead. Cas was dead. Cas had betrayed us, but now he was dead. His last act of redemption had been to tell us to run, to try save our lives... before he'd ended his own.

How do you bring back an angel? Where would I even begin? I didn't like this. I didn't like feeling helpless like this. I knocked back a zillionth shot of whiskey. It helped keep me grounded, where I was itching to do something, anything.

So I focused on my brother. Sam was not coping, and I had been blind before not to have seen anything. Mil had, it was obvious. My sister only went 'Mother Goose' when she was worried about someone. But I'd been too wrapped up in my own crap to see through his lies - until now.

Sam had slept for a solid 12 hours - a seemingly impossible feat. Sam never slept more than about 6, unless unconscious or really, really sick. I took the latter.

"12 hours. Should we wake him?" I mused.

Mil was staring at me, but lost in thought, her eyes were unfocused, unseeing. I'd startled her. "Huh?"

I nodded over my shoulder at Sam on the couch, then leaned over and patted my brother's chest. Mil looked like she was going to protest, but Sam needed to wake up now.

"Sammy. Sammy, hey," I said in my brother's ear, hearing Mil's exasperated sigh behind me.

A startled Sam jerked upright, whole body tense. I reared backward, unbalanced by his suddenness. Sam's eyes focused intently over my shoulder. There was nothing there - pretty sure.

"Whoa. That's twelve hours straight. I'm calling that rested."

Sam shook himself, blinking.

"Here," Mil said, offering Sam the water bottle and muesli bar. "Hydrate and, uh, protein-ate. How you feeling?"

I listened closely for Sam's answer - maybe he'd give Mil the truth, as they seemed to share some mutual shoulder to shoulder support at the moment. Soppy sods the pair of them. I'd been in the pit too!

But Sam hedged, commenting with a tiny smile: "Breakfast in bed."

"Don't get used to it," I grunted. "Let me see that hand." Sam's hand had been cut by glass back in that lab. The stitch job was Mil's, since I'd been too obtuse to see my brother was hurting. It was rough, and still wasn't looking good - something I'd given Mil a little flack about. But hands were hard, and Sammy probably wasn't helping himself letting it heal. It would scar for sure, but we had plenty of those. "Eh, you'll live," I told my brother gruffly, reaching for the whiskey bottle to sterilise the wound. "Here." Sam hissed in pain as alcohol sloshed over his hand. "All right, take it easy."

Wearing a grimace, Sam clenched a fist a few times to shake out the sting. "So, ooze invasion. Any leads?"

"I got all my feelers out," Bobby replied, entering the room just in time. "Whatever they're up to, it ain't - ain't about going Mothra down Main Street. They'll turn up. You seem pretty eager to stretch your legs, you know."

Sam shrugged non-commitaly. "Mmm."

The smell of whiskey tantalised my nose. It had become my best friend these last few days, and I was itching to catch up with it again. I headed out to the kitchen to find myself a fresh glass. It was a good thing Mil was keeping up with the dishes.

"Now onto our other big problem," I remarked as I re-entered with my glass, shooting Sam a significant look. Mil was busy bandaging his hand, but she looked up, eyes full of flames, as I spoke. "How're you doing? And do not say okay."