The novelty of addressing people by their last names wore off for Sam when he was still in college. It was something someone did just to spout disinterest or disdain, neither of which Sam felt he owed Spencer. Not before he stitched him up, but certainly not after. The whole evening had been a bonding experience, and if Spencer woke up tomorrow and decided it would be simpler to arrest given the state of his life Sam would go along with it willingly.
"Okay, sure," Sam says with some resignation. He's too tired to sleep, so eating feels like a chore, but he endures the idea the same way that he would if it were Dean suggesting it. Old habits die hard."Do any of the places off Larb or Tom Kha Gai?"
Whatever reconnaissance Spencer and his team at the BAU had done, it would have heralded a lot of greasy takeout, and a penchant for smutty magazines, and classic rock. All Dean's genre of expertise. Sam was the more astute of the two, the more interested in vegetables and healthier options and the more aware of cultures other than his own. Back during simpler times, Dean would call him the 'geek boy sidekick,' and despite what he'd been through he hadn't yet bothered to let go of those little things.
"And we killed the whole nest."
Sam pulls what was left of his shirt after the stitch job from Spencer and tosses it and the bled-through undershirt into a bag to be torched later. He puts some gauze over the wound now that it's had time to breathe, not quite trusting enough of the scratchy bed sheets and dimestore pillows not to cover his basis. He puts some Tegaderm on over the gauze bandage and drags a weary hand through his hair as he does his mandatory sweep of the room for hex bags and bugs. It doesn't take him long, and when he's done he slips his handgun under his pillow and a blade under the mattress just in case.
"If there's more they're not in the state and are part of a bigger network who wouldn't come after you because of what you do. They won't be able to find me, and even if they do most won't bother with following through. No fledglings made it out thanks to you, so, we're in the clear."
no subject
"Okay, sure," Sam says with some resignation. He's too tired to sleep, so eating feels like a chore, but he endures the idea the same way that he would if it were Dean suggesting it. Old habits die hard."Do any of the places off Larb or Tom Kha Gai?"
Whatever reconnaissance Spencer and his team at the BAU had done, it would have heralded a lot of greasy takeout, and a penchant for smutty magazines, and classic rock. All Dean's genre of expertise. Sam was the more astute of the two, the more interested in vegetables and healthier options and the more aware of cultures other than his own. Back during simpler times, Dean would call him the 'geek boy sidekick,' and despite what he'd been through he hadn't yet bothered to let go of those little things.
"And we killed the whole nest."
Sam pulls what was left of his shirt after the stitch job from Spencer and tosses it and the bled-through undershirt into a bag to be torched later. He puts some gauze over the wound now that it's had time to breathe, not quite trusting enough of the scratchy bed sheets and dimestore pillows not to cover his basis. He puts some Tegaderm on over the gauze bandage and drags a weary hand through his hair as he does his mandatory sweep of the room for hex bags and bugs. It doesn't take him long, and when he's done he slips his handgun under his pillow and a blade under the mattress just in case.
"If there's more they're not in the state and are part of a bigger network who wouldn't come after you because of what you do. They won't be able to find me, and even if they do most won't bother with following through. No fledglings made it out thanks to you, so, we're in the clear."