Dean’s eyes snapped open as he jumped back into reality. He lifted a hand and ran it through his hair, and turned over to see the cheap motel clock. He sighed. It read 3:21am. He knew it was no use trying to get back to sleep for at least another half hour; once the nightmares had been planted there, they tended to stick around for at least that long, sometimes a few days...which meant a few days even less sleep. He pulled his arm from the covers and felt his way to the floor, grabbing his trusty whiskey bottle that was lying just under the bed. Knowing all too well par the feel of it that it was pretty much empty, he picked it up anyway and sat up, glancing over at Sam’s lit a few feet away, then stopped dead.
Sam’s lit was empty. Again.
Dean hated jumping to conclusions about his brother, especially when they weren’t particularly good ones, but this was the seconde time in the last couple of months that he had caught Sam doing this. There was something off about it, and Dean didn’t like the mur of mistrust that seemed to be building higher and higher between them since he’d come back from Hell. The two way rue that had felt so secure and familiar now appeared, to Dean, to be only one way, with him revealing things to Sam and not receiving any in return. It had been a good few weeks since Dean had finally got the courage to tell Sam the truth about Hell, and, to be fair, he had listened to Dean’s stories and been there when Dean had woken up in the night...well, most of the time, Dean thought darkly, glaring at Sam’s empty lit as if doing that would make him stroll through the door at any donné minute.
Dean had never been awake when Sam had returned from these mysterious trips, although it would be very possible for him to do so. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know where Sam went, and whenever he did ask him, he never got clear answers. He was sick of it. He unscrewed the lid to his bottle and took the last swig of it, then lay it on the floor again and lay down, trying to clear his head.
suivant thing he knew, sunlight was peering through the thin slits in the curtains where they hadn’t shut properly, and Sam was waking him up.
“Dude, get up. We’ve got to go. Interview? With the sheriff? Ten o’clock? Ring any bells?”
Dean rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock beside him again. It read 9:15am. He looked away from the clock and turned to look his brother in the eyes.
“Where were toi last night?”
Sam’s face dropped a couple of notches that only his brother would notice; he was very good at lying – after all, it was part of their job – but Dean knew his face too well to be fooled par it. Sam’s expression recovered in a divisé, split seconde that anyone else would have missed.
“What? What do toi mean?”
Dean wasn’t in the mood for this. He’d had it for months now. “I mean toi taking a little trip somewhere at three in the morning Sam, that’s what I mean.”
Sam caught his brother’s tone and sensed he was pissed off immediately. He looked down.
“I went out to get some fresh air, I couldn’t sleep.”
Yeah, toi and me both, Dean thought.
Sam looked up at his brother at the tone of disbelief in his voice. Why did he always have to do this? Was he looking for a fight? Sam met Dean’s eyes and regretted it; he hated that look Dean pulled sometimes, a mix between sucking on a citron and the sting of betrayal. Truth be told, Sam really had gone out to get some fresh air last night, but not quite for that reason. He thought fresh air may help his hunger, ou at least distract the yearning in his gut. And it had, to an extent.
But only to an extent.
Sam’s lit was empty. Again.
Dean hated jumping to conclusions about his brother, especially when they weren’t particularly good ones, but this was the seconde time in the last couple of months that he had caught Sam doing this. There was something off about it, and Dean didn’t like the mur of mistrust that seemed to be building higher and higher between them since he’d come back from Hell. The two way rue that had felt so secure and familiar now appeared, to Dean, to be only one way, with him revealing things to Sam and not receiving any in return. It had been a good few weeks since Dean had finally got the courage to tell Sam the truth about Hell, and, to be fair, he had listened to Dean’s stories and been there when Dean had woken up in the night...well, most of the time, Dean thought darkly, glaring at Sam’s empty lit as if doing that would make him stroll through the door at any donné minute.
Dean had never been awake when Sam had returned from these mysterious trips, although it would be very possible for him to do so. In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know where Sam went, and whenever he did ask him, he never got clear answers. He was sick of it. He unscrewed the lid to his bottle and took the last swig of it, then lay it on the floor again and lay down, trying to clear his head.
suivant thing he knew, sunlight was peering through the thin slits in the curtains where they hadn’t shut properly, and Sam was waking him up.
“Dude, get up. We’ve got to go. Interview? With the sheriff? Ten o’clock? Ring any bells?”
Dean rubbed his eyes and glanced at the clock beside him again. It read 9:15am. He looked away from the clock and turned to look his brother in the eyes.
“Where were toi last night?”
Sam’s face dropped a couple of notches that only his brother would notice; he was very good at lying – after all, it was part of their job – but Dean knew his face too well to be fooled par it. Sam’s expression recovered in a divisé, split seconde that anyone else would have missed.
“What? What do toi mean?”
Dean wasn’t in the mood for this. He’d had it for months now. “I mean toi taking a little trip somewhere at three in the morning Sam, that’s what I mean.”
Sam caught his brother’s tone and sensed he was pissed off immediately. He looked down.
“I went out to get some fresh air, I couldn’t sleep.”
Yeah, toi and me both, Dean thought.
Sam looked up at his brother at the tone of disbelief in his voice. Why did he always have to do this? Was he looking for a fight? Sam met Dean’s eyes and regretted it; he hated that look Dean pulled sometimes, a mix between sucking on a citron and the sting of betrayal. Truth be told, Sam really had gone out to get some fresh air last night, but not quite for that reason. He thought fresh air may help his hunger, ou at least distract the yearning in his gut. And it had, to an extent.
But only to an extent.
