Hello everyone! It's been awhile! I have been keeping very busy, even if I haven't been posting a lot recently. I have several fics that will be coming out soon! This is a good old season 8 fic that I've had in my file box for ages and finally finished. My muse is a little scattered and she tends to go her own way and do her own thing despite how I try to control her haha! By giving up control, though, I've written much more than I had expected!

Hope you will enjoy! This story is divided into 2 parts just to make it a little easier to read since it's a bit long. Maybe it's just me, but i find it easier to find my way through long stories if they're divided up into chapters. Hope it's ok with all of you! :)

chapter one

"This is it. I've climbed this hill." Dean huffed, hands on his hips, surveying the foggy valley before them as dusk fell. "And now I will die upon it."

Sam huffed back at him. "Shut up. We've only been hiking for ten minutes."

"Ten minutes is a long time in the wilderness."

"We're in a county park and you can see the motel from here."

Dean turned around and, sure enough, Sam was right. Of course he is. They could see the motel from here. It had seemed like a long hike.

"You're just annoyed because I took you away from your monster movie marathon," Sam said, elbowing past and starting down the hill.

"And my nachos!" Dean shouted louder than was necessary.

Sam halted forward movement and turned, eyebrows raised. "Why are you yelling about your nachos?"

"Because I'm bitter about my nachos."

"You said they weren't any good and you pushed them across the table at me," Sam said, moving forward again.

Dean slapped a mosquito on his neck. "Eating not good nachos was better than this."

Sam stopped again and Dean smirked before carefully schooling his features into the most morose expression he could manage. But Sam didn't turn around.

"You could go back," Sam said over his shoulder. He sounded deeply hurt. "I know you didn't want to come. It's fine, go eat your nachos."

The broad shoulders slumped a little and Dean rolled his eyes. "Layin' it on a little thick, aren't you?"

Sam turned around with a smile. "Is it working?"

"No. I still want my nachos and to not be devoured by nature." Dean slapped another mosquito, brushing past his brother. "Let's get this over with."

"Dean, it's a hike." Sam's sigh was heavy and dramatic. "It's not supposed to be something you get over with. It's something you're supposed to enjoy."

"Are you enjoying this?" Dean asked, stumbling over the uneven ground.

"I was. But now I'm thinking I should've left you with your nachos. It would be quieter and I'd be enjoying nature."

"We do this all the time."

Sam snorted, shaking his head. "No. We don't."

"Yes. We do. Hunting monsters in the wild-"

"Is not taking a hike in the woods for the sake of simply enjoying the great outdoors," Sam cut him off, hopping over a fallen limb.

Dean jumped over the same limb and griped, "I spent an entire year outside in the great outdoors. Sorry if I'm not really a fan right now."

At his words, Sam paused and this time he wasn't joking when he said, "I wasn't thinking. I'm-"

"It's fine."

Dean didn't want to start down that conversational path with his brother.

They had dealt, or more accurately, not dealt with everything that had happened in the past year. At any rate, they'd put it all behind them and were back to what Dean would consider the status quo. Ever since the time they'd spent LARPing with Charlie, things had been going well. Dean hoped this little expedition wasn't going to reopen old wounds.

Sam was walking again, but slower and he wasn't looking ahead with the eagerness he'd been displaying a moment ago. He didn't look back at Dean as he said, "I just wanted to step away from...everything. Just for awhile."

There was a heavy sigh, then Sam turned around and started walking back the way they'd come.

Dean caught his arm. "Hey, what are you doing?"

"Let's go back."

Great. I killed the mood. Dean pulled on his brother's arm and said, "No. We've come this far, we're gonna take this hike. Gonna enjoy the fresh air if it kills me."

Sam studied him for a moment and Dean could tell he wasn't convinced and wasn't happy, but Sam nodded. For the next ten minutes, they hiked the wooded trail in silence. Dean knew something was on his brother's mind, but Sam wasn't saying and Dean wasn't going to ask. Because he was more than a little afraid of what Sam might say. Or what he might ask. So far they hadn't discussed the fact they'd met and lost their paternal grandfather only a week ago today.

Dean's mood soured with every step he took over the gravel path.

Purgatory.

Amelia.

Benny.

A new monster wearing a blast from the past bombshell and she'd killed their grandfather in front of them.

Kevin and the tablets.

Everything all at once as usual.

The issues hung over them like a cloud and Dean found himself wishing they'd never left Moondoor.

So far into his morose thoughts, Dean stopped paying any attention to the trail. It was a mistake. A stupid mistake, which led to an equally stupid misstep and sent him tumbling head over heels down a very, very steep incline. A steep incline littered with rocks. And stumps. And mud.

Somewhere above and behind him, Dean could hear the thump of his brother's boots and the sound of Sam's voice shouting his name. It was kind of nice to know that Sam was chasing after him although Dean wished he'd hurry up and grab him before he rolled straight off a freakin' cliff.

"Dean!"

Dean reacted instinctively at the sound of sheer panic in his brother's tone. He reached out with a fumbling hand and grabbed at whatever he could. The first thing he grabbed, a root, gave way immediately and his pounding heart rate tripled because Sam's tone had clearly indicated how very little time Dean had before he met an unfortunate end. Whatever he grabbed next held a little better, but nearly flayed the skin from his hand and nearly pulled his shoulder out of its socket.

It did put a sudden stop to his tumbling, knocking the breath out of him as it did so.

"Dean hold on. Don't let go!"

Wasn't plannin' on it, Sammy, Dean thought to himself, tightening his grip on the branch and trying to suck in a breath. It wasn't easy to suck that breath in especially when he realized his feet were hanging over thin air and with every second that passed, more of him was hanging over thin air. He kicked his feet, hoping against hope to find purchase, but all he did was slide even closer to the edge.

"Don't move!"

You're so bossy, Sammy, Dean thought to himself. But he didn't move. Not even a little.

Fingers closed around Dean's wrist just as his grip on the branch failed. He'd had many opportunities over the years to be grateful for how strong his once scrawny little brother had become and right now was one of those moments.

"I've got you," Sam said, voice as strong as his grip and leaving no doubt but that he didn't intend to let go anytime soon.

Dean gasped out a pained thanks and reached up with his other hand to latch on to Sam's arm. It felt like an eternity, but probably had only been a few seconds before Sam hauled him back from the edge. They flopped breathlessly back into the grass; Sam still had a tight grip on his arm. Once they'd both caught their breaths, Sam let go of him and sat up. Dean lay where he was, staring at the darkening evening sky above, feeling every bump and bruise from his tumble, and marvelling at the fact that even a walk in the park could turn into a near death experience.

He was contemplating whether or not he was up to moving when Sam started laughing.

A lot.

"What's so funny?" Dean asked, more than a little annoyed to find Sam had already forgotten how close he'd just come to losing his big brother.

Sam patted his chest and waved a hand. He was still laughing.

Dean groaned and pushed himself upright. His shoulder throbbed as did his hip, and he wiped at his bleeding nose with the back of his hand. Ready to gripe at his brother's insensitivity, Dean stared in the direction Sam was pointing.

And then he started to laugh, too.

They met each other's gaze and laughed even harder. Dean couldn't believe what he was seeing. No wonder Sam had busted out laughing. The "cliff" he'd been hanging half over turned out to be nothing more than a steep edge of a landscaped hill. Had he gone over the edge, he would have fallen about three feet.

Reining in his laughter, Dean tried to defend his frantic terror as he'd rolled down the hill. "The way you were hollering, I thought I was gonna die.

Sam stopped laughing and Dean was blown away by the blatant emotion in Sam's eyes as he said, "I thought you were going to die, too."

Dean swallowed hard. From the angle and the darkness of the evening, it had been impossible to see where the incline would have deposited him. It seemed a little silly now, knowing they'd both panicked over a three foot drop. But the fact remained: neither of them had known he wasn't in danger.

And Sam had been there to catch him before he could fall.

"Thanks," Dean said, wiping at his nose again.

"Yeah." Sam smiled briefly. "You ok?"

"Feel a little bruised. Feel a little foolish."

Sam snorted, drawing his legs up to rest his elbows on them. Apparently he wasn't in any hurry. Dean finished blotting his nose with the back of his sleeve and settled more comfortably in the grass with his legs hanging over the "cliff". They sat in silence as the shadows grew longer.

Dean stared ahead without seeing anything. He'd wanted to enjoy his nachos and his monster movie marathon. Having a near death experience - even if it hadn't been as near as he'd thought - hadn't exactly heightened his enthusiasm for his brother's nature hike. Sam could have gone for a hike on his own. Probably would have if Dean hadn't decided giving in would be easier than standing around arguing with his brother.

"This will sound stupid under the circumstances," Sam broke the silence, "but I don't know what to...I don't know how...how…"

Dean looked up as his voice trailed off. Irritation bubbled up. "Spit it out, Sam."

"He just came out of nowhere and now he's...now he's dead."

It came out in a rush and the desperation behind it nearly knocked Dean over.

He wished he hadn't pushed Sam to finish his hesitant thought. Discussing their grandfather was currently top on an ever growing list of things he didn't want to talk about. He should have known Sam would want to talk about it. Dean found himself wishing again that he'd stayed in the motel room eating his nachos. It would have saved him a bloody nose, bruises, and a chat he didn't want to have about a grandfather he'd known for less than a week.

Sam stood up while Dean was contemplating how he could ignore the entire subject.

"It just really sucks, you know?" Sam turned around and walked up the hill without waiting for an answer.

He wasn't running away from Dean or the conversation or the issues between them; his movements were too slow for that. It was more like he was simply walking away because even he didn't want to talk about it.

Dean wanted to be relieved, but he wasn't. Well, he was because it seemed they weren't going to have to deal with it after all; at least not right now. But he knew better than to assume Sam would just let it go. Even if he didn't try to force Dean into talking about it, he'd still stew over it for the next week. Or month.

Sighing, Dean pushed himself to his feet and brushed some of the dirt and grass from his clothes. The bumps and bruises over his entire body ached as he moved, reminding him that tomorrow would suck even more than today did. Massaging his hip as he walked, he studied his brother's retreating form and wondered if this was something he could ignore, or if he needed to prepare himself to do some damage control.

He really wasn't up to damage control at the moment and it was a cruel twist of fate that damage control might be necessary. Things had been good, really good, for a couple weeks now and a long lost grandfather tumbling out of a closet door was exactly what they hadn't needed. After spending some time actually having fun with his brother in Charlie's "kingdom," they'd been more at ease with one another then they had been since he'd come back from Purgatory.

The very thought soured his mood and he clenched his fists at his sides as he stalked after his brother. They'd just gotten themselves put back together. They didn't need a reason to fall apart again.

"Time travel. Why's that gotta be a thing?" Dean muttered, kicking at the stones in the gravel path under his boots. "Our lives aren't freaky enough?"

"Freaky doesn't begin to cover it."

Dean jumped back, almost into a tree, cursing as he heard his brother's amused chuckle. Sam had apparently paused forward movement while Dean hadn't been paying attention and he'd caught up to him without realizing it. He wanted to be annoyed about it, but he was too relieved to see the faint amusement in Sam's eyes.

"Dude, don't jump out of the darkness like that." Dean smacked him on the arm, walking past.

Sam snorted, catching up with Dean in three long strides and falling in step beside him. "I didn't jump out of the darkness, you idiot. I was waiting for you and you almost walked into me."

"Whatever," Dean said as they walked off the path and back to the sidewalk that led to the motel.

Reaching the parking lot of the motel, Dean realized he'd somehow lost his shadow. Turning around, he found his brother standing at the edge of the parking lot, staring across the street. Dean followed his gaze, but there wasn't anything there. Just an empty field.

Great. Dean sighed and walked back to his brother. Nudging him in the shoulder, Dean asked, "You see something particularly fascinating over there?"

Sam shook his head, sparing him a quick glance. "Just thinking."

"Oh well, in that case, I'm going to go eat the rest of my nachos," Dean said, turning around and hoping Sam would follow him.

"Why don't we go get burgers or something? The nachos were terrible."

"Uh. Ok." Dean faltered a bit, not having anticipated that comment at all. Daydreaming about food was generally his territory. Sam staring off and "thinking" typically meant some sort of deep, emotional showdown was in the works. Like a lengthy heart-to-heart about their grandfather. "Ok. Burgers. Sure. I don't know if this place has a burger joint."

It was a pretty small town and they could basically see everything from where they stood. If they drove into the city, it would take a good half hour, but they might find better food options. Dean was about to suggest it, when Sam spoke up.

"There's a pub." Sam started walking. "They'll probably have burgers, right?"

"Yeah." Dean followed him, shrugging.

What the hell? Burgers and a few beers didn't sound like the worst way to spend the evening. Anything was better than talking about Henry and their screwed up lives.

If Dean had been sober enough to admit it, he would have admitted he was flat out drunk.

Four, no five, hours after their arrival at the pub, they were a long way past the burgers. A long way past "a few beers," too. A few beers had lead to a few shots of whiskey which had led to a few shots of tequila, a few more shots of tequila, and then a whole lot of tequila.

"No, no, no," Sam was arguing, right hand waving as he cradled his latest alcoholic beverage with his left.

Dean laughed. "Yes, yes, yes."

"No. Dean. I'm serious." Sam even sounded serious. Sounded serious even though he was wavering where he sat.

Or maybe Dean was the one wavering; he couldn't tell any more. The entire bar was on the deck of a wildly rolling ship.

"The science is more accurate…"

Dean snorted. "What do you know about science?"

"Or at any rate, more believable," Sam continued, completely ignoring Dean. "I mean…"

"No." Dean held up a hand even though it screwed up his balance. "Do not even try to tell me that Terminator isn't believable. Not when you're gonna sit there and say Back to the Future is based on science!"

Sam downed the rest of his drink, or most of it anyway. The rest spilled over his hand and onto the bar, but he was oblivious. "I never said it was based on science. I just said it was more believable."

"So you can believe a DeLorean can be modified to fly back into the future," Dean scoffed, trying to refill his own glass, "but you don't believe Skynet could…"

"Well, he came through a closet."

Dean rolled his eyes, the movement making his head spin. Releasing his grip on the bottle of tequila, he grasped the edges of the bar for support, and said, "So time travel through a closet is more believable than Skynet…"

"Saw it with our own eyes." Sam nodded, then started laughing for some reason.

"Will you let me finish a sentence?"

"You just did."

"Did what?"

Sam laughed again. "Finished a sentence. You just did. Try to keep up."

"You keep up," Dean said, wondering when he'd lost control of the conversation. He lifted the shot glass to his lips. Maybe a drink would help clear his mind.

"Where're we going?" Sam frowned, narrowing his eyes. "What did you say?"

This time, Dean was the one laughing. "You're drunk."

"Yeah." Sam didn't sound bothered by the fact.

"And anyway," Dean said, trying to remember what the heck they'd been talking about.

Sam tilted his head, a puzzled frown on his face as he stared at Dean, waiting.

"Oh. Yeah." Dean grinned, the memory finally coming back into focus. "Terminator is totally badass."

"What's that got to do with anything?" Sam jumped on the opportunity to continue arguing. "You think Terminator is the best time travel series because it's badass?"

"Exactly. More badass than a car. Or a closet." He snorted. "Who uses a closet?"

Sam shrugged, wavering again. Dean shoved a hand against his shoulder to right him, only to have Sam grab his shoulder to right him when he overbalanced.

Once they were both sitting up (more or less), Sam said, "I don't think Henry meant to…"

"Fall out of our closet?"

"Yeah. Hey, you know what would be badass?" Sam grinned, thumping a hand on the bar.

"What?" Dean returned the grin.

"The Impala."

Even drunk, Dean thought his brother's comment was offensive. He narrowed his eyes and growled, "She's already badass."

"Yes but…"

"But?"

"But what?" Sam asked, eyes crossing. He closed them for a few seconds, then blinked a few times. Frowning, he asked, "What?"

Dean laughed. "Dude. You're so drunk."

"So're you," Sam said, words sliding together.

"We should go."

"Not finished yet." Sam shakily drained his glass. Or would have, if there'd still been something in it.

Dean wasn't really finished, either, but - through the drunken haze - he knew they should probably leave sooner rather than later. The trip back to the motel was going to be rough as it was; to say nothing about the hangovers from hell they'd be facing in the morning. Before he could suggest it, though, Sam spoke up.

"The Impala would be the best for time travel."

"Huh." Dean shook his head. So that was what Sam had been trying and failing to say a moment ago. He couldn't disagree. "She'd be awesome for time travel."

"Hey! That's what I said." Sam's eyes were wide. "Dean! You think like me!"

Definitely time to go, Dean thought. He shook his head. "Nobody thinks like you do, Sammy."

"You really mean that?"

Dean paused, studying his brother. Drunk or not, he would have found it difficult to decipher his brother's expression. He was either hurt, or hopeful, but Dean couldn't tell which. Shrugging, Dean ignored the topic. Drunk as they were, they'd probably both forget what they were talking about in another five minutes.

"Time to go." Dean pushed himself to his feet, hanging onto the bar for dear life. He didn't dare look down to verify, but he was pretty sure the floor was wiggling under his boots. The thought was disturbing.

"Dean."

Sam was using his reasonable voice. His school teacher voice. His I'm so much smarter than you are voice. It was somewhat less effective considering how drunk he was, but Dean had to admit he was giving it a good try. He waited to hear whatever Sam was going to say in his reasonable tone, but nothing came.

Dean's vision was blurry and his thought process questionable, but he knew his brother well enough to know if his mind wasn't occupied with an argument or a problem to solve, the alcohol was going to hit him like a train. Already, his skin was going pale and he kept squeezing his eyes closed like his head hurt. They didn't have a long time before they were going to be in deep trouble.

So Dean wrapped his hand around his brother's arm and dragged him off the bar stool. At first Sam seemed more steady than he was, but only for a split second. Then, Sam slammed both hands down against the bar, closing his eyes tight and breathing unevenly.

Crap! Dean cursed his stupidity. And his brother's stupidity. Getting this drunk had been a very bad plan even if it had been a lot of fun getting to this point. He tossed down enough cash to cover their booze-fest.

"Come on," Dean urged, tugging his brother's arm. "Gotta go."

If they didn't get going soon they weren't going to make it back to the motel at all. It was only a couple blocks away, but already Dean doubted their ability to get there. He tightened his grip on Sam's arm as he pushed himself upright from the bar. Sam met his eyes briefly, then stumbled away. Dean followed closely, his own gait no steadier than his brother's was.

They made it to the door without incident and the crisp night air did help perk up Dean's inebriated brain cells a little. He grabbed his brother's arm when Sam tripped over nothing and stumbled forward.

"I'm fine," Sam insisted, pulling away and stumbling some more.

Not in the mood to start a fight, Dean backed off. In all honesty, he was having enough difficulty keeping himself on his feet let alone trying to steady Sam. Side by side, they crossed the deserted street, then slowly made their way toward the motel.

"Where would you go?" Sam asked, abruptly stopping forward motion.

"What?" Dean halted, turning around and looking at his brother as he wavered in the moonlight. "Going to the motel."

"No, no." Sam shook his head, going three shades paler.

Dean grabbed his arm, because fine or not, Sam looked halfway to passing out. "What are you talking about? Where would I go..."

"If the Impala could time travel," Sam said, sounding one-hundred percent serious. He didn't try to pull away from Dean's grip this time. He leaned forward, eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on Dean's face. "Where would you go?"

Pulling Sam's arm over his shoulder and tugging him forward, Dean said, "I'd go back to the moment we decided to shoot the whiskey. Bad decision. Bad, bad decision."

Sam laughed.

Dean tripped and Sam steadied him with a hand against his chest. Mumbling his thanks, Dean looked up to find his brother's face inches from his own. Backing up, he didn't get far because Sam's arm was still over his shoulder, and his hand was still against his chest, trapping him in a very close embrace.

"Sam! What the hell?"

"Are you ok?" Sam asked, squinting at him. His words sounded like syrup. All slow and stuck together.

"I'm awesome." Dean grinned.

"No, you're drunk." Sam smiled, finally moving out of Dean's personal space.

"Hate to break it to you, but you're drunk, too." Dean yanked his brother forward. "Come on."

Sam started moving again, not leaning as heavily against Dean. The spark of conversation seemed to have revived him a little.

"I wouldn't," Sam said out of the blue. "Even if I could, I wouldn't."

Dean groaned. He was too drunk to keep up with his own thought process, let alone try to keep up with Sam's. He had no clue what Sam meant by that and, instead of asking, he just kept walking. He was sweating despite the cool weather and the fun part of being drunk was rapidly giving way to the really sucky part of being drunk.

Part of him knew he should try to keep his brother talking because if Sam faded out on him now, Dean would be dragging his brother's unconscious ass the rest of the way. The other part of him, though, didn't want to keep talking.

Didn't want to talk about time travel. Didn't want to talk about where he'd go if he could travel back in time. Talking about the different modes of time travel in popular movies and books had been entertaining. Thinking about the reality of it in their lives was less entertaining and more depressing.

Mercifully, Sam didn't say anything else and they made it to the motel without either of them winding up on the ground or puking in the bushes. Dean leaned against the wall as Sam fumbled through his pockets for the key to the door. It took him a frustrating number of tries to get the key in the lock, but at least he didn't drop it and finally the door opened. The lights were still on and Dean cringed back from the brightness, only moving forward because Sam was pulling him into the room.

Dean pushed the door closed and locked it, resting his forehead against the door for a long moment. He fumbled for the light switch and managed to turn out the overhead lights. A dim glow still lit the room from the lamp on the nightstand. The headache was beginning and his stomach was churning; the scent of nachos doing nothing to help calm the nausea. He closed his eyes and just stood there, listening as Sam moved around the room, muttering to himself.

The sound of furniture being moved, though, had him straightening and looking around.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, shifting, but keeping his shoulder against the door.

Sam was across the room, his own shoulder braced against the wall. His hand rested on the back of the chair he'd just shoved under the door knob of the closet door. He shrugged.

"Just in case Grandma Winchester decides to come for a visit."

Dean laughed. Couldn't help himself. Sam looked so sincere. So very drunk and sincere. So drunk and sincere and sure a chair was going to keep time-traveling family members from popping into the room. The whole thing was funny. Funny that their life was this screwed up. It was downright hysterical.

Except it wasn't.

Not even a little.

Dean's amusement faded. Sam looked clueless, like he had no idea what Dean had thought was so funny. He also looked like he was more unconscious than not; his eyes were glazed and his skin had gone grey. Pushing off from the door, Dean crossed the room. It was a lot more difficult than it should have been. The carpet was rising and falling and he couldn't walk in a straight line for some reason.

Grabbing Sam's shoulders, he shook him. "Hey!"

"What?" Sam asked, eyes barely open.

"Come on." Dean shook him again, then yanked him forward.

They only had a few steps to go before they hit the bed. He dumped Sam on the bed, almost going down with him. Regaining his balance at the last second, he stared at his brother who was half sprawled on the bed with his feet still resting on the carpet. The jolt as he hit the bed had shocked Sam's eyes open and he looked shocked at the harsh treatment. Dean ignored him and unsteadily navigated the rolling carpet until he reached the bathroom. He didn't bother to turn the light on.

By now, everything was pulsing. The walls, the floor, the counter, his body. The aspirin spilled out across the counter and he groaned, chasing as many of them down as he could. He filled a plastic cup with water and downed a couple pills, then refilled the glass. Wavering in the doorway, he had to pause and lean his shoulder against the frame till the world righted itself.

A glance across the room revealed Sam had managed to crawl all the way onto the bed. He was on his side, arms wrapped around a pillow. Amazingly, he was still awake. Dean stumbled over to the bed and wound up on his knees in front of it, half the water spilling out of the cup and onto the carpet. There was still enough for Sam to down the aspirin with, though.

"Bottoms up," Dean mumbled, holding out the cup.

Sam didn't look remotely interested in moving, but when Dean held out the aspirin, he seemed more motivated. Pushing himself up on one elbow, he took the pills, then downed what was left of the water in one swallow. The cup tumbled to the floor as he flopped back down against the mattress.

Mission accomplished, Dean turned around and crawled to the other bed. Dragging himself onto the mattress, he settled on his stomach, one heavy arm hanging off the edge of the bed, head turned so he could see his brother. He didn't think he'd ever be able to move again for as long as he lived. Ready to give in to the pull of sleep, his brain obnoxiously decided to keep him awake as his thoughts drifted back over the course of the evening. A question nagged at him until he couldn't stay silent any longer.

"What did you mean?" he asked, voice loud in the quiet room.

Sam blinked slowly, more asleep than awake. For a moment, Dean didn't think he was going to get an answer, then Sam spoke up.

"What are you talking about?"

"You said you wouldn't."

"Wouldn't what?" Sam's eyes closed.

Dean didn't have enough energy to be frustrated at his brother for not understanding what he was trying to say or at himself for not being coherent enough to explain what he was talking about. Too tired and too drunk to try to sort anything out, Dean closed his eyes and decided it wasn't worth the effort to pursue the topic.

Honestly? He wasn't really sure he wanted to know what Sam had meant when he'd said I wouldn't.