[it's a-me! the-a-disclaimer!]

On the ride home, she keeps him awake by way of viciously scolding him for his Legendary Idiocy, a harangue which is sporadically punctuated by the garbled challenges of an inebriated moron –an insolence she tolerates only because it means he's still conscious and alert.

Or, not alert so much as irritated and incoherent. But definitely conscious, at least. She's willing to count this as a victory.

The curious part, the one snagging component of this Normal-Albeit-Infuriating situation, the Inconsequential Thing tugging insistently at the subliminal importance chord in her brain every time it happens (and it keeps happening)...is the way he keeps saying her name.

There's nothing remarkable about how he says it; there are familiar notes of both chiding and exasperation discernible in the cadence of it. The vexing thing is, even saturated in alcohol as he is –and in spite of potentially debilitating head wounds— she has discovered that her name is consistently the only word he can say correctly, clearly, brief lucidity surfacing only long enough for him to breathe 'Casey' before he slips effortlessly back into slurring every syllable into nonsensical gibberish.

Casey McDonald is a girl incapable of not reading into any and every little thing that happens in her life, so when her happily intoxicated boob of a step-brother fumbles every sound he makes except the ones that define her, she can't help but to entertain the thought that it might not be the 'same difference,' after all.

I don't even know what the hell to tell you at this point.

I wish I knew where this was going.

However, the men in my Control Tower appear to have all hurled themselves from said tower to their Unpleasantly Squishy deaths, so I've just got no clue what in the dudderflip is going on.