WHO: Sam and Lexi! WHAT: Hangovers suck. WHEN: Early afternoon. WHERE: A cafe. RATING: TBD.
Sam and Dean Winchester had a very odd way of going about certain matters at times. If they both were up to an assignment that they didn't want to personally take on, they thrust their fists out and went all out on a round of rock, paper, scissors to determine as to who was going to take on the unfortunate task. When they went to work, they didn't clock in, flash their name tags, and tackle their day the old-fashioned way - they impersonated dozens of authority figures, violated the graves of people they didn't know so that they could torch their bones, and found their paychecks in the form of the first person that they could scam out of their money in whatever way they possibly could. Then there was Mother's Day. Rather than celebrating the holiday with their family, they holed themselves away into the first bar they found and played a little game that Sam liked to call 'Beer, Shots, Beer, Shots, Hurl'. It was the start of a brand new tradition, one that was entirely focused on simply forgetting.
Problem was, no matter how drunk Sam had gotten, he couldn't forget.
It wasn't like before. He didn't know Mom before. He knew how she died. He had seen her pictures here and there, when Dad didn't know he was looking. Every now and again Dean or Dad would let something slip that would tell Sam something he didn't know about her, but it hadn't been enough back then. Little tidbits and images weren't going to fix the loss that his family had taken the night Mary Winchester had walked into his nursery and burned.
Later, the world turned itself upside down. The seals broke and, with them, so did the veil between the living and the dead. Sam met his real mother. Formed a relationship with her. Found out that she was more than he could have ever imagined her being. Then, just like that, the seal took her; pulling her from the world just as unexpectedly as it had when it had given her that false second chance at life.
The seal made it seem like nothing had happened. It took her and everything she had to her name away. But it didn't take the memories. Nothing in the world was powerful enough to do that.
Sam had been pretty stupid to believe that drinking himself into a stupor would.
"Coffee. Black." A beat. "Please."
The amused look sent his way confirmed that the teenager he was trying to order coffee from knew just how hungover he was. Sam ignored the look. Instead, he dished out a handful of crumpled bills and slid them across the counter. Heavy footed, Sam shuffled toward the opposing counter and pocketed his change, wincing at the bright overhead lights scattered across the ceiling. After what felt like ages, a paper cup was pushed at him. Quicker than he had been since waking up face-down in bed with the worst headache he'd felt since the last time he'd tried practicing his psychic abilities, Sam snatched up the cup and tipped it back.
He nearly choked on the scalding hot coffee that he had so eagerly poured down his throat.
With a sharp scowl at his cup in a way that made it look as though Sam were blaming it for everything - ranging from the burn in his mouth to the pounding in his skull - Sam flopped down at the nearest empty table and buried his hands in his face.