FADED ▷ Sam Winchester [2]

19 | IN MY HEAD

"Gross," I say, knowing that what I'm assuming is true, because well, Dean is a guy, what else could it possibly be?

"Well, I tried to call you," Sam says.

"Oh," Dean takes his destroyed cell phone from his pocket and sets it on the counter. "Not sure how that happened."

"Great," Sam says. "Well, I'll text mom, make sure she knows to get a hold of me in case of an emergency. And Cas, in case he tracks down Kelly." Dean's face screws up in confusion as if he doesn't know what Sam's talking about. "The mother of Lucifer's love child?" Sam says, noticing the look on his brother's face.

    "Right, right," Dean says, nodding. "The devil baby mama drama. Say that five times fast. Devil baby mama drama." He grins, amused with himself.

    "Dude," I say, putting a hand on his shoulder. He really seems off. "Are you okay?"

    "Mmm," he hums, brushing off my comment and diving into the plate of waffles in front of him. I remove my hand from his shoulder and look over Dean to Sam who has his eyebrows raised at Dean, just as confused as me at his behavior.

    "All right, Dean, you know, you had a good run, but maybe let's pump the brakes a little," Sam says. "I mean, you're not twenty anymore."

    Dean stares at his younger brother a moment. "Okay, one, the Rat Pack partied till the day they died. And, B, I can still kick your ass." I raise an eyebrow at him. Sam scoffs. Dean calls for more waffles even though he hasn't even finished the ones in front of him. The sound of the bell above the door chimes and I turn my head as a group of girls walk inside. One of them, a short brunette, looks our way, specifically at Dean, and smiles a little before going to the corner booth with her friends.

    "Got a man who needs some waffles down here!" Dean calls down the counter.

    "Oh, no, I'm fine, I'm—" Sam begins.

    "You can just take these if you want," Dean slides his plate to Sam.

    "No, Dean," the younger Winchester argues. "Look, the morgue opens in like ten minutes."

    Dean lifts his mug of coffee and takes a drink, again looking confused by his brother's words. Seriously, what's his problem? Is he still drunk?

    "The morgue?"

    "The autopsy results," Sam says. "Are you still drunk?"

   "I don't think so," Dean claims. Sam not-so-subtly leans over a little, sniffing the air around his brother. Dean pulls away, looking unamused, and a little offended at his brother's actions. I laugh a little.

    "Dean, remember? The dead guy with his throat stuffed full of money?" I ask.

    "Right, yes," Dean nods a little. "Um, the accountant. Barry Gilman."

    "Right," Sam says.

    "And you think he got his ticket punched by a demon," Dean asks.

    "Maybe," Sam says.

    "Uh-uh," I say, shaking my head. "It's definitely a witch. Demons don't shove money down their victim's throats when their time is up. That's absurd. It has to be a witch."