Alright, time to tell you about the longest fifteen minutes of my life. Okay, maybe not, but it sure as hell felt like it at the time. Sitting there on the floor with my back against the wall, nothing but a few feet of air between me and a very naked and wet Skyler and have I mentioned that I've got a pretty active imagination? I've had torture sessions that were less effective. It didn't help that I could hear every little thing, from her clothes hitting the floor to her stepping into the water.

"So, what are we talkin' about?" Because you're not the only one in desperate need of a distraction.

"I don't know."

Head back, I kept my eyes firmly closed, strangling the urge to just glance around the doorframe to look at her when she spoke.

"You're the one doin' me the favor, I think that means you get to pick the topic."

"Hell, I don't know." Yeah, like I had anything close to a working brain cell right then. I couldn't think of a single thing and it really wasn't a 'let's talk about the first thing that pops up' kind of situation. Unfortunately. Was that a curse? "You okay in there?"

"Nope, but I can deal for long enough to wash my hair." Which meant that the water sloshing now was her lying back to get her hair wet. So that was probably her sitting back up, and sure enough, there was the click as she opened the shampoo. Stop it. "What about you and Sam, where are you from? I mean, before your Dad went off the rails."

"He didn't-" Okay, yeah he did. Couldn't really deny that. Still can't. Dammit. "We were born in Lawrence, Kansas. Lived there until Mom was killed. After that we moved around a lot, mostly motel to motel." The more things change, the more things stay the same. Or so they say, whoever the fuck 'they' is. "How 'bout you?"

"I know where Lawrence is." Another slosh and a gasp and I was pretty sure she was sliding down again to rinse her hair. She really didn't waste any time, which, you know, thank whatever god for small favors because if she didn't hurry up, I was going to forget how to breathe and pass out. "I'm from just over the Oklahoma border, I was born in Bartlesville. Moved around a lot, but always kinda stuck to the same general area."

"You lived with your grandmother, right?" I remembered her mentioning something about a grandmother at some point but couldn't actually remember what she'd said. Granted, that'd been a few days before when I was trying real hard to pretend she didn't exist. "...Beatrice?"

"That's right." Was it just me or did she sound pleased that I'd remembered? Pretty sure it wasn't just me. "I lived with Grandma for a few weeks or months here and there. Probably the only reason I didn't turn out way more fucked up than I already am." The trickle of water and another plastic click as she opened what I'm guessing was the conditioner. No way I should be able to smell it from there, but that really didn't seem to matter because I totally could. "Grandma lives-She lived in a house out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere outside of Bartlesville for most of her life."

"When did she die?"

"A few months ago, her body just hasn't got the memo yet."

It doesn't help that my mind immediately goes to zombies and shit. To be fair, I deal with zombies and shit on a regular basis, so you can't really blame me.

"She's got Alzheimer's. That's uh-" A splash of water and a gasp, but she continued before I could do more than crack an eyelid. "-that's actually why I was in New Orleans. There's a care home there that specializes in Alzheimer's and other kinds of dementia. One of the best in the country, or at least it better be, it's costing her enough." I must have been getting better at reading her voice—which is probably a real good thing—because it didn't take more than a few seconds for me to hear past the exasperation to the pain underneath it. "The doctors are sayin' she's maybe got a year left, so that's fun."

What the hell are you supposed to say to something like that? 'I'm sorry' just doesn't really cut it, but what else is there? "That's really shitty."

"Yeah, it is." I heard her take the plug out, the few inches of water she'd run swirling down the drain followed by the squeak of wet skin on porcelain and a footstep on tile. I know Tink likes to claim that I'm a good guy and all—okay not then, but eventually—but I'll admit it took a hell of a lot not to turn around right then. "So what about you? Do you have any other family or is it just you and Sam and John?"

"For the most part." Bouncing the back of my head against the wall repeatedly, I tried not to imagine dark hair falling in a damp, tangled mass to her waist while water rolled down pale skin to… Okay, so I wasn't so great at the not imagining part. Big surprise, I'm sure. "We've got an Uncle we've never met and a couple of good friends that stepped up and took us in once in awhile when Dad couldn't bring us on a job."

"That's um-That's Pastor Jim and Bobby, right?" It was my turn to be pleased that she'd remembered. Of course, back then I didn't know she'd even been paying attention. Now I know that she doesn't forget shit and she has absolutely no problem bringing up something I said six years ago if she thinks it's somehow relevant to the current conversation. (And when he says 'current conversation', he means 'argument we had three months ago and he can't let go of because he's a stubborn ass'. -Tink)

"Hey, who knew you actually listen when I talk." Have I mentioned that I have a habit of things coming out more dickish than I mean them to? Because that should probably be mentioned several times. Tink, on the other hand, totally means it because she's mean. (Oh, I am not, fuck you very much. I am the sweetest, kindest, most gentlest soul ever. ...aaand Dean's laughing behind me. Do you see what I have to put up with? -Tink)

"You talk a lot, I don't have much choice."

"I do not." That's a lie, I totally do, just only around certain people. Apparently, to everyone else, I come off as 'brooding' and 'terse' and 'a great big bag of dicks', and that's a direct quote from a guy I know that really needs to keep his fucking nose out of our business. (To quote that guys brother, who also happens to be a great big bag of dicks, 'Get over it already.' -Tink) "Okay, yeah, well maybe if you talked more."

"I thought I rambled too much and you wanted me to shut up?"

"I said you rambled, I never said I wanted you to shut up." Yeah, couldn't really deny that first part, I'd only said it about a hundred times. I hadn't actually meant it, but I had said it. And of course now I felt bad about it. Great. On the plus side, a little guilt is a pretty decent distraction when you're trying hard not to think about other things. "How else am I gonna learn why I should hate geese?"

"I'm tellin' you, they're evil. Just wait, someday you'll see."

I opened my eyes, tilting my head back to look up at her as she stepped out of the bathroom, dressed in what I was pretty sure were the jeans she'd been wearing yesterday and the tank-top she'd been dancing in. And I'm not complaining. At all. It's a great look and I wholeheartedly endorse it.

Crossing her arms, she leaned back against the door frame, eyeing me as if she didn't believe a word of it. So much skepticism in such a tiny package. ...and here I thought I'd been getting used to that honeysuckle-flower-sweet whatever-the-fuck but turns out I was very wrong. Also turns out there's a reason for that, but I'm not actually allowed to tell you so... Whoops.

"Do you really not mind or are you just givin' me shit?"

"I really don't mind and I'm not just givin' you shit." Considering I'd been giving her shit for days—that she'd been giving right back—it was a fair question. "At least, not right now. I make no promises for later." Getting to my feet, I grinned down at her. Probably should have just gone ahead and kept my big mouth shut, and you'd think I'd learn to eventually, but no. "You really are all kinds of messed up, aren't you?"

"And you're not?" Between one breath and the next, her smile had disappeared and she didn't give away so much as a twitch. For a second, I really thought I'd fucked up. Have I mentioned that she's kind of a bitch? (Don't let him fool you, he loves it. -Tink)

"That's not-I didn't mean-"

I prefer not to wonder how big of a gibbering idiot I might have become if she hadn't cracked after the first five seconds, flashing a grin at me that lit up the whole damn room. "God, Winchester, you suck at this game."

—Have you ever really cared about someone and really wanted to strangle them all at the same time? That's fun. And then of course a heartbeat after making me wonder just how long it'd take until she lost consciousness, she goes and says something all sweet and I hate that and it's not playing fair and she does it all the time. (Is it my fault he's a total pushover? I don't think so. -Tink)—

"I uh-I didn't mean that crack about your Dad earlier." Fun fact: When Tink blushes, the color creeps up the back of her neck and turns the tips of her ears bright pink and it is the most endearing fucking thing I have ever seen and I have since made it my mission in life to make her blush at every possible opportunity. "I know-I know that you're kinda touchy about your parents and I can relate and I'm sorry." Clearing her throat, she finally looked up at me, meeting my eyes as she forced the words out past what must have been a pretty big lump of pride. "Sometimes the filter between my brain and my mouth doesn't work so great but I hardly ever mean it."

I dare anybody to try staying aggravated with that. Can't do it. Not possible. Which I'm telling you right now is annoying as all hell when we're in the middle of a fight and she pulls that bullshit. Sometimes I just want to stay mad for a minute, but no. (Aww, you poor thing. I am so sorry. How will I ever forgive myself. Here, hold this tiny violin. -Tink)

"Don't worry about it, I'm uh-I'm kind of the same way."

"...I've noticed."