"It won't come out." He tossed his shirt into the trash.
"What won't?" Dean extracted it with two fingers. "Hey – isn't this your favorite shirt?"
"Just my oldest." Sam stepped outside and breathed deeply. The door behind him swung open, releasing his brother and a cloud of detergent laden air.
"This is the shirt you wore in Jericho. The night… Oh."
"Yeah. It doesn't matter." Sam hunched his shoulders. "Just a shirt."
"Did Jess buy this?"
Sam nodded miserably.
"Then it matters. I'll get the stain out. The shirt won't even fade."
"She has."
"Not in any way that matters."
Please read Chapter 3.