The forgotten brother Milo "Miles" Campbell has always lived a life in the shadows, haunted by the knowledge that he was despised by their father, John Winchester, simply because he was his wife's biggest mistake. Feeling rejected and neglected, Mil...
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Ch. 10: Demon Time
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The morning sun shone through the faded curtains of the motel room, beaming down against Milo's prone form. He was tucked in nice and snug with his entire face and body covered by the comforter out of habit to both ward off any unwanted tan against his pale skin and to protect himself from any meddling from Sam or Dean. He was practically a dead body with a linen cloth over it.
Back in the day, it was a free-for-all. If your mouth was open when sleeping, you would wake up to toothpaste, whipped cream, or water down your throat. If any part of your body was uncovered, you best believe there would be fake tattoos of all kinds drawn onto your skin.
They've all grown out of the pranks, but the sleeping habit still stuck with Milo throughout the years.
Dean, on the other hand, didn't need to cover himself whilst he slept because he'd trained himself to become alert at the smallest movement or sound around him. He had this sixth older brother sense when it came to Milo and Sam, if they even looked at him suspiciously whilst he was slept, he'd wake up with a jolt.
So, when the motel door opened with a slight creak, Dean waking up immediately should have been expected. He shifted slightly on the other bed at the sound.
Sam stepped inside, none the wiser.
Slowly, and half unconscious, Dean reached for the blade under his pillow.
"Morning, sunshine!" Sam greeted loudly, juggling four cups of coffee and bags of food in his hands as he looked over his two brothers.
Dean groaned and his hand slipped away from the blade. He sat up at glared at him through squinted eyes, "What time is it?"
"Uh, it's about five forty-five," Sam responded, placing the coffee and food on the table and moving to Milo's bed. With two hands, he pulled the blanket off of him just like one of those magicians with their tablecloth tricks, but the boy didn't move. Not even with the sudden movement or the loud whooshing sound of the comforter in the air. He was as still as a rock with his hair fanned out like a golden halo on his pillow and his arms straight at his sides.
Like a corpse.
"I envy his ability to sleep anywhere, anytime, no worries," Sam muttered at the sight, shaking his head. He let go of the comforter and took a seat on the edge of the mattress. Even the dip of his body weight didn't stir Milo, and Dean felt a familiar urge to scold him for not being alert but he let it go just as fast as it came.
"You didn't get any sleep last night?" He asked instead.
Sam shrugged nonchalantly, "Yeah, I grabbed a couple hours—"
"Liar." Dean cut him off, "Cause Miles and I were up at three in the morning playing Connect Four, and when we went to bed you were in the corner watching a George Foreman infomercial."
