The irony was that this particular motel didn't even make his bottom five regarding flop joints. Sam's seen the inside of some pretty sketchy hotels in bad urban real estate. The life of a hunter didn't pay well and most of the time what money they did make went to provisions and upkeep.
Thanks to Charlie some of those expenses felt lighter but not by much because ethically Sam didn't believe in pushing that envelope too far. He had moral limitations when it came to defrauding the government. Dean never saw that as an issue, but he also had to not only raise him but risk his life early on with all the same conditioning. He considered it part of the perks of being the one to go toe to toe to save the people that would have been prey.
"Yeah, it's all real, Spence." Maybe not the best time for nicknames but he's doing what he can to keep him distracted while he preps the area. He does him the service of not warning him as he debrides it and not wasting time. "That, and the demons that were responsible for what happened in Monument, Colorado."
That much had to be in his file seeing as it was from one FBI agent that later wound up being a casualty after helping them fake their deaths. A lot of good people died there, people Sam would've wanted to help get out and then help disappear. They didn't deserve what happened to them, and even though Lillith's not a player now he takes the blame for that and those casualties knowing that none of it mattered in the long run and that those people, good people, were just canon fodder for a holy war.
Sam's quick about disinfecting the tissue, and when he stitches him up he's efficient, surgeonly, about pinching the skin together so that it'll heal. When he's done, he wraps it in thick tourniquet gauze and then drops his arm, and where he'd been bracing Spencer's wrist with his hand.
"It'd be a whole lot easier for both of us if I was some deranged serial killer playing with nightmare scenarios."
The audible sigh that follows speaks to his exhaustion and the genuine desire for that to be true. He washes his hands, careful to get Spencer's blood off his palms and out from beneath his fingernails and then he offers up the whiskey, for a little relief. Raw-dogging stitches, even with the help of some top-shelf booze as local anesthetic wasn't easy.
"We can take a break before you do me if that's better for you." It might behoove them both to give Spencer a little time to digest everything and adjust to the tightness in his arm before he worked on his shoulder.
no subject
Thanks to Charlie some of those expenses felt lighter but not by much because ethically Sam didn't believe in pushing that envelope too far. He had moral limitations when it came to defrauding the government. Dean never saw that as an issue, but he also had to not only raise him but risk his life early on with all the same conditioning. He considered it part of the perks of being the one to go toe to toe to save the people that would have been prey.
"Yeah, it's all real, Spence." Maybe not the best time for nicknames but he's doing what he can to keep him distracted while he preps the area. He does him the service of not warning him as he debrides it and not wasting time. "That, and the demons that were responsible for what happened in Monument, Colorado."
That much had to be in his file seeing as it was from one FBI agent that later wound up being a casualty after helping them fake their deaths. A lot of good people died there, people Sam would've wanted to help get out and then help disappear. They didn't deserve what happened to them, and even though Lillith's not a player now he takes the blame for that and those casualties knowing that none of it mattered in the long run and that those people, good people, were just canon fodder for a holy war.
Sam's quick about disinfecting the tissue, and when he stitches him up he's efficient, surgeonly, about pinching the skin together so that it'll heal. When he's done, he wraps it in thick tourniquet gauze and then drops his arm, and where he'd been bracing Spencer's wrist with his hand.
"It'd be a whole lot easier for both of us if I was some deranged serial killer playing with nightmare scenarios."
The audible sigh that follows speaks to his exhaustion and the genuine desire for that to be true. He washes his hands, careful to get Spencer's blood off his palms and out from beneath his fingernails and then he offers up the whiskey, for a little relief. Raw-dogging stitches, even with the help of some top-shelf booze as local anesthetic wasn't easy.
"We can take a break before you do me if that's better for you." It might behoove them both to give Spencer a little time to digest everything and adjust to the tightness in his arm before he worked on his shoulder.