Episode: Season 7 - Of Grave Importance Pt. 1

It had been about a month since Dean and I got back from the '40's. Things had gone fairly smoothly since with only a few hiccups along the way - most of them gooey Leviathans. We'd taken a few more cases then, passing the time as we still tried to get revenge on them but so far - nothing. We'd decided today to meet up with an old hunter friend of Bobby's, Annie Hawkins, who'd reached out to us a couple of days ago for help on a case.

"Man, get this. Dick Roman is funding another archeological dig," Dean said suddenly as he looked down at the newspaper in his hands, "Guy moves more dirt than the Drudge Report,"

"Well, anything on what he's digging for?" Sam asked, looking up briefly from the menu situated before him on the table.

"Don't you think I would've led with that?" Dean snapped, sarcasm dripping from his words.

I rolled my eyes at their bickering, rocking back and forth on my chair's legs.

Sam sighed, glancing down at his watch just then, "Annie's not usually this late, is she?"

"No, never. She's totally compulsive. I'll try her cell," Dean suggested, putting away his newspaper to dig the cellphone out of his jeans pocket.

"You know, uh, she and Bobby had a thing, right?" Sam piped up casually, catching me off-guard.

"Yeah," Dean shrugged distractedly, his words nonchalant as he continued to try to call Annie, "Yeah, I knew that,"

Sam took a sip from his mug of coffee, glancing over it at his older brother briefly. Dean put the phone down then, his words finally sinking in.

"Really?" he finally asked, eyebrows knitting together in confusion.

"Yeah. Kind of a foxhole thing. Very Hemingway," Sam explained.

Dean made a noise of surprise then as he continued to make another call to Annie. Shrugging, I took a sip from my coffee mug, letting the warm liquid slide down my throat.

Dean was silent as he sat beside me, not saying anything before finally he spoke, "She and I kind of went Hemingway this one time too,"

I choked on the coffee instantly, spluttering so much a few heads turned in the restaurant to glance my way. Slamming it down so hard, I think I heard a crack in the clay, I sent my boyfriend a death glare. Which incidentally, I had learned from Death.

"Oh, you did, did you?!" I asked, eyebrows arching dangerously.

Instantly, Dean paled and his hand went to rest over mine that was holding onto the tablecloth in a death grip, knuckles turning so white it nearly matched the material.

"It was before I fell in love with you, dear," he insisted, patting my hand in a reassuring gesture.

A low growl began in my throat and I could almost feel my eyes about to turn black. But instead of letting it consume me, I just ripped my hand away from Dean's and took a deep breath, remembering the calming techniques Crowley had taught me.

"All right. Well...that happens," Sam shrugged at Dean's answer.

Dean looked over at Sam for a moment before his younger brother sheepishly smiled back at him. My jaw dropped as did Dean's.

"What? You too?" Dean asked, pulling the still-ringing phone away from his ear.

"Look, it was a while back. We ended up on the same case. She was stressed, and I-I...I didn't have a soul," Sam said, making a face at the end as he shrugged.

Dean just shrugged back at him, only slightly bothered by the revelation, "That's a lot of foxholes."

I rolled my eyes, scoffing as I crossed my arms over my chest briefly.

"Typical Winchesters." I muttered under my breath.

The food came then, a waiter carrying our plates on a silver platter as he maneuvered around the other tables to get to ours. Dean snapped the phone shut then, mumbling something about Annie still not answering. The waiter set down the plates then before walking off in the direction of another table. My stomach growled from hunger as I eyed the delicious-looking food. A large stack of pancakes, drenched in syrup covered every fluffy bite that the eye could see. But just as I was about to dig in, the smell of it wafted up to me and I felt my stomach turn.

Dean was too invested in his own food to notice but as I darted away from the table, fleeing to the back of the restaurant to a door marked 'Women', I felt Sam's eyes follow me. As I burst into the restroom, I immediately raced to a stall and heaved over the side of the porcelain toilet bowl, emptying the contents of my stomach just as the door swung closed behind me. Heaving it all out, I sucked in a sharp breath, hands pressed to the seat tightly. I could feel my whole body shaking from the exertion and after pressing the button on the side to flush, I leaned my back against the stall as I sat down on the grimy bathroom floor. My eyes fluttered shut as the bout of nausea still persisted, hoping I wouldn't get sick again. A couple more minutes passed and finally - finally - so did the sick feeling.

Opening my eyes again, I breathed out a sigh of relief. Lifting myself up on wobbly legs, I briefly gripped the stall as I regained my balance before exiting the restroom. Sam's hazel brown eyes were glued to me as I sat back down in my seat across from the brothers.

"Where'd yoo gwoh? Oo mist the fwood," Dean said with a mouth full of food, gesturing towards the now empty plate of food in the middle of the table.

I swallowed down a string of bile that rose up in my throat and shook my head, "Not hungry."

Glancing up into Sam's concern-filled gaze, I sent him a small smile of reassurance. But as we left the restaruant and headed back to the Impala, I could still feel Sam's eyes boring into me.