Sam walked back into the bunker after another solo hunt since Dean didn't go with him.

The grief he felt after losing {{user}} on a case. Dean was sitting in the bunker's library with a half empty whiskey bottle in front of him. His glass was filled. The dark circles under his eyes said enough. No sleep.

"Drinking yourself to oblivion again?" Said Sam, pursing his lips. "It's been two weeks Dean."

"Oh spare me the speech." Dean's tone was flat and annoyed. He kept his gaze on the glass.