FADED ▷ Sam Winchester [2]

24 | FORCED CONVALESCENCE

It's very relaxing to get a few days off. Mitch has four kids that are fun to hang out with. He's got a very happy family.

On the third day of my visit, I fell asleep on the couch in the living room the night before. Mitch's twins wake me up that morning. They are nine years old.

"Bailey, it's MORN-ING," the girl, Lou, says, curling up next to me on the couch. "Daddy made WAFFLES." She enunciates waffles, probably because she is excited about it. They are her favorites.

"Okay," I say, smiling a little. After eating breakfast and still not hearing anything from Sam and Dean since I've been gone, I decide to bid my goodbyes to Mitch's family and head on my way back to the bunker.

•••

After making a stop at a liquor store (that stuff is hard to carry on a bike by the way), I start heading for home.

I get back there mid-afternoon. I say hello loudly as I walk inside to announce my presence, but I get no answer. Maybe they're out on a case?

As I walk further down the stairs, I see Dean sitting at the table, staring intently at his computer screen. I set the bag down on the table in front of him, waiting for him to talk. This is kind of weird, even for Dean. He was never crazy about me, but it was never so bad that he flat out ignored me.

"Dean?" I say. He finally talks to me, and I should've been expecting it.

"Did you get beer?" He asks, grabbing the bag I set down before I can stop him.

"Uh..."

"Ooh, that'll work," he says, grabbing the bottle of scotch I bought out of the bag.

"Actually that was for..." I start, then trail off as he looks at me curiously. I just look at him a moment; he looks pissed off about something, or sad. I don't know. I think he mixes those emotions together. "Go ahead," I say, waving my hands.

A few moments later he's on his second drink, his laptop is closed in front of him, and I'm sitting across from him with my legs crossed on the table. "Where's Sam?" I ask him. He scoffs, looking away.

"He went out, he'll be back later," Dean says. I don't say anything more about that.

"What's wrong?" I ask.

"It's mom," he says. I raise my eyebrows as he pours himself another drink. "You know how she's been gone most of the time? Guess where she was at?" I shrug my shoulders. "Working with the Brits."

"Why?" I ask.

"Hell if I know," he says. "I mean, why the hell would she work with them over us? We're her freaking sons." I don't say anything. I don't know what to say. "I don't– whatever." He shakes his head.

Dean's quiet for a moment, then he eyes the bottle of scotch in front of him. "What's the occasion?" He wonders.

"Uh..." I start, unable to say what I'm thinking. "No occasion. I heard Sam say he likes that kind."

"Uh huh," Dean says, giving me a look.

"What?" I ask, laughing a little bit out of nervousness.

"Nothing," he says, shaking his head. "It's nice."

I scoff. "Whatever."

•••

An hour later the bottle of scotch is empty. I didn't let Dean finish it all himself. I had a few glasses. I hardly ever drink, though, so I feel it more than Dean.