June 2
Ok, I'm back now. So... what's my evidence for Mom putting the Big Lie over on Dad?
a) My blood type. I didn't rely on that little bubble-head's opinion, I did the research. The scientists may be proven wrong three hundred years from now, but here in the twenty-first century the rules of blood-type inheritance look pretty damn airtight to me.
b) Cas's choice of words about Adam. Two sentences wouldn't be evidence in anybody's book (well, unless they were 'Yes, I killed the dude. I shot him in the face.') but not just anybody's hung around Cas like I have. The mook could take five minutes to choose just the right words to order a cup of coffee. He's not gonna blurt out something like that without having an ulterior motive behind it.
c) My memories. Mom and Dad fought, and hey, even I'm perceptive enough to realize that if I remember them arguing a lot, and Mom died when I was four, then they were fighting a lot, at least in that last year or two.
d) My gut. Smirk all you want, but my gut's saved my ass more times than I want to count up. My gut tells me this hurts, but it hurts like truth.
What evidence do I have against?
a) My birth certificate. That's pretty official. Legal in court and the whole nine yards.
b) Mom and Dad's word. 'Nuff said.
c) Michael's whole Cain-and-Abel bloodline spiel. Yeah, yeah yeah. He's an Archangel. Top of the god-squad food chain. He's also the lying, flying, douche bag of dubious destiny and has the serious hots for my meat-suit. The silver tongued ultimate "good son" who doesn't know what Big Daddy's will even is anymore. Talk about your friggin' daddy issues and sibling rivalry- Michael and Lucifer, they wrote the damn manual. So, I put more weight on the words of the iffy lower-case angel in the grungy overcoat. Thanks all the same, Mikey.
d) My last few memories of us all as a family. They're happy ones. We were happy, or at least it sure looked like that to four year old Dean. Happy wives don't cheat on their happy husbands, not even in pornos.