"Sorry, can't do it."

Sam turned his head to the side, breathing in dusty air. His words breaking his promise of keeping his mouth shut. Her nose wrinkled, attempting not to breath, Mildred was not going to stop Sam or throw him under the bus with the Impala. Dean had already cussed out Constance. Blame successfully shifted. And then walked around the Impala to take in all damages, passing a few feet from them. Oh man.

"Dude, you smell like a toilet."

It was bad.

Not able to take it anymore, especially if she didn't have to, Mildred pulled a face and turned her head away from Dean, preferring the smell of mold and dust. By far. At least she could associate those with something nicer. Like old books.

Scowling, Dean glanced down at himself. He was wet. Covered in muck. And he reeked. Making a face, he flicked his wrists, attempting to get what stuck to him off.

Injuries may have been avoided from his landing, but other things definitely had not been.

Upon return to the motel, Mildred and Sam insisted Dean take a shower. No talking over Constance's end or her kids or dissecting what had happened or digging through Dad's items left behind—as much as the sight of his leather jacket hanging up stopped him in his tracks. Together, they had practically shoved Dean into the bathroom and closed the door on him. Dean had yanked from his side, but they'd held firm on their side of the door knob, threatening to use physics on him if he persisted. He'd taken the hint and stopped trying to swing the door in to get out.

He probably didn't object to a shower or getting away from them after how the ride to the motel went. More like he was irritated and worried about them. Less so on the worry now.

Ducking out of the line of fire, Sam yelled at the bathroom door that'd just opened and then slammed shut. "Oh, real mature, Dean!"

Dean's cackling echoed off the bathroom walls.

Rolling her eyes, Mildred picked up the dirty clothes Dean had flung out and dropped them into one of the black trash bags that'd been used to protect the Impala's seats from the very thing they now held. Tossing it over by the door, she plunked down beside Sam at the end of the bed. Didn't take long for his cell phone to come out, she noted.

"Tell Jess hi," she told him.

Sam huffed, not passing on the message. He merely lowered the phone between them. Jessica's cheerful reply was heard easily. Amused, he put the phone back up to his ear.

"She heard." Paused. "Oh. Uh. Dean's in the bathroom right now."

He went silent again, but it lasted a little too long. Mildred leaned forward to get a better look at him. Sam was looking at the closed bathroom door, an odd look of surprised wonder on his face.

"No, actually." There was something softer in his muted manner. "It's been good. I mean, he's Dean, still full of all his usual crap, but…good. I think we… When we make it back, I think he might stick around for a few days."

Sam laughed, a warmth filling up his face. Eyes crinkling and cradling the phone closer, his gaze was clearly elsewhere. Not in this room. "Yeah. The air mattress was a great idea."

Mildred smiled, flopping back onto the bed. She frowned shortly later at Sam's voice going stony.

"No. Dad was here, but not anymore."

Ah. The topic of Dad. Yeah. That'd do it for Sam.

"Yeah." The word dragged out, as though he didn't want to give it to Jessica. "Uh, we think he's up at Stanford. Jess, no. I really don't think that's a good idea. It's not a good idea at all. Dad and I—"

From what Mildred could hear, Jessica was going off. Arguing, talking sense into him, and wheedling. Sam was left to make faint agreeable noises or attempt an argument back. Jessica kept cutting him off. After having a short visit from Dean, word of Dean sticking around so she could get to know him, Jessica was likely amped up on the chance to know their dad too. Something about making up her own mind about him was said from Jessica's side of the line.

Mildred tapped her feet on the floor, humming a song as she listened to the murmur of Jessica and Sam's interjecting voice and the running of water. Humming along, humming with the sounds of Dean and Sam. Like old times. The three of them. Together at a motel—sometimes apartment—with Baby Imp parked outside.

They were older. It wasn't the same. But the familiarity was comforting to have along with the freshness. Sure. They had kept in contact. Sort of with Dean and Sam the last couple years. Had hung out together around the Palo Alto area after Sam had started up at Stanford. Or even before. It'd not been right between them, it'd been rough all through Mildred and Sam's senior year. That year had been…off. For them. For her. But this felt fresh. A turning point. Revisiting, rebuilding the sibling bonds.

It felt as though they had successfully made a leap into adulthood together. Still them, but a leap into something new. Taking each other as they all were, the walls of their own separate worlds the past few years sliding away, accepting and running with it. And a back to basics. Just them. A place, any place, it didn't really matter. Never had. As long as they were together. Back to basics with improvements. With possibilities.

A picture flashed across Mildred's head. A meal. Dean, arm crooked around a pie to block it, digging into it with childlike glee. Sam rolling his eyes, gesturing at the untouched main meal out on the table. Jessica at his side, passing a basket of rolls around the table, handing them to Mildred. Bobby reaching over to smack Dean over his head. And an empty seat saved at the table. For Dad. Who'd stepped out? Or hadn't arrived yet?

Absently, she raised up a hand and rubbed underneath her collarbone, soothing the area.

It'd be fine. Dad was fine. It was only a matter of finding him. Between the three of them, a known place, it wasn't going to be that hard to accomplish.

"Red."

Her eyes dragged away from the off white ceiling to Sam sitting upright, half turned to her, hand covering the phone. Brows furrowed down, worried. About Dad? How he was? Jessica wanting to meet him?

"Do you need alcohol or bandages? I can get them for you."

Curling a finger around the collar, Mildred tugged her chartreuse green blouse down for both her and Sam to see. He turned a bit more, leaning closer, eyes narrowing. "Huh. I thought it'd look worse than that."

"I'll put stuff on it after a shower," she said to help ease him further about her injuries. "You did good."

"But I—"

"Better than Dean."

"He wasn't even there," Sam countered her praise. It still stuck though. A quiver of a smile formed along his mouth.

Too many years of trying to live up to and be like 'cool' big brother Dean. Mildred grinned to herself, waving a hand at Sam, going back to staring up at the ceiling. "Get back to Jess."

He turned back to his conversation, uncovering the phone. "I'm back. I can make an effort. For you. But I doubt my dad will agree or show."

Mildred's smile fell. Too many years for her too. But not in being like Dean. She was Mildred, no one else. But there were too many years of Mildred trying to live up to expectations, to surpass the expectations, to be the best, to never make a stupid mistake, pushing herself to be more. More than the disappointment, the scoffing lowered expectations. To push herself, surpass and be her best, not wanting to drag anyone down by lack of effort or ability, working hard to meet all her goals. A good chunk of those goals had been forged by the life they grew up in, the life Dad raised them in.

"Shower's free."

At Dean's announcement, Mildred popped herself up and off the bed. "My turn," she chirruped.

Once she got a change of clothes and the shower running again, Mildred took her phone out, making a quick phone call to Bobby from within the bathroom. He found how their hunt ended interesting and asked if she wanted to have him add it in to her set for the Roadhouse. Mildred declined. She'd write it up herself later. Both personal journal and the drier info condensed to have for records. Then brought up what their dad thought he was chasing. The unmatching information, as well as sheer mention of John, set off Bobby into a batch of grumbling swears. But she was running mostly off of memory and Bobby agreed to double check for her. It was nice to hear the same from Bobby though.

Dad may be reckless, grasping at straws and running on incomplete information, but he was not in danger of what he thought to be.