A mental note is made when Spencer's inability to lie on the fly becomes more apparent to him, but beyond that, all he offers in response is a nod. Never a dull moment in the life of a hunter, and now that this fed has been made aware of the things that lurk in the darkness his life and job were about to get more complicated than they already were.
Sam realizes a bit too late for comfort that he could have just taken off when Spencer said that he'd meet him at the motel. It's not like he had anything of value there, and he would've had a head start of at least fifteen minutes in any direction he saw fit, but something makes him stay. The pale sick look on the agent's face was telling, and Sam, try as he might to steel himself and separate from the emotion on the job has never been able to just let someone suffer through the new reality. Not while also sporting injuries like the kind they had. The burden of truth on a guy like Spencer came with more questions than answers, and so against his own better judgment, he stopped by the local liquor store for some good drinking booze and alcohol to use as antiseptic, quality fishing line, needles, and gauze.
The knock at the door, and the words that follow, shouldn't bring a smile to his face but they do. A wry look of disbelief at his current situation, and the notion that even when he's out manages to find a way back in - with or without his brother.
He opens the door, the TV is playing some old Western black and white, and the southern drawl is a dulcet undertone in the room the light from the television and the desk lamp is the only thing illuminating the dark and dingy environment.
"How's the wing?" Strain from driving probably didn't make it any better. Sam shuts and bolts the door behind him. "I'm gonna take care of you first. You have the choice of the desk, or the bathroom, but I'm guessing you'll pick the bathroom."
no subject
Sam realizes a bit too late for comfort that he could have just taken off when Spencer said that he'd meet him at the motel. It's not like he had anything of value there, and he would've had a head start of at least fifteen minutes in any direction he saw fit, but something makes him stay. The pale sick look on the agent's face was telling, and Sam, try as he might to steel himself and separate from the emotion on the job has never been able to just let someone suffer through the new reality. Not while also sporting injuries like the kind they had. The burden of truth on a guy like Spencer came with more questions than answers, and so against his own better judgment, he stopped by the local liquor store for some good drinking booze and alcohol to use as antiseptic, quality fishing line, needles, and gauze.
The knock at the door, and the words that follow, shouldn't bring a smile to his face but they do. A wry look of disbelief at his current situation, and the notion that even when he's out manages to find a way back in - with or without his brother.
He opens the door, the TV is playing some old Western black and white, and the southern drawl is a dulcet undertone in the room the light from the television and the desk lamp is the only thing illuminating the dark and dingy environment.
"How's the wing?" Strain from driving probably didn't make it any better. Sam shuts and bolts the door behind him. "I'm gonna take care of you first. You have the choice of the desk, or the bathroom, but I'm guessing you'll pick the bathroom."