He probably should have known that the comfortable silence (okay, slightly strained silence, because there was still this whole missing year there, between them, setting things off balance and making him unsure of what Sam’s silence meant, what his own meant, what anything meant, anymore) wouldn’t last forever. Sam always tried to get him to talk about stupid things he really didn’t want to talk about. If it was bothering him, Sam wanted to talk about it, even though that didn’t really help anything, because what helped was forgetting about it - which he couldn’t do if he was talking about it. Which was a very simple concept, but apparently his brother didn’t quite get it.
>"You haven't gotten any memories back yet?"
“No.” He frowned, looked up at Sam, spinning his glass against the tabletop with his fingers absently, while the other hand reached out for the bottle again. “I mean, ‘m I supposed to? I figured it was all just...” he waved the hand that had been toying with the glass slightly, “...gone.”
He wasn’t sure whether he wanted to remember or not. Everyone was talking like the last year had been kind of rough, and, hey, he didn’t really need any more rough at the moment, thanks. He had enough to deal with from just what had gone down in the last couple days. But on the other hand, it made everything a lot more confusing, not having the memories to back things up, to make things make sense. There were people here he didn’t know who knew him, reasons for the way things were that he had no idea about...