milliways_bar | (no subject)

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There's a Watcher in the bar.

Specifically, there's an Andrew Wells in the bar, seated in a booth not far from the fireplace. He's ostensibly making a list in his notepad, but right now he's staring into the fire without really seeing the flames or the serenely circling fish, pen resting forgotten on the page.

He's got stuff on his mind.

Any moment now he's going to notice that the tip of the pen's making a large blot and the list will have to be redone.

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Sam takes a second, but only that. He meets Andrew's eyes.

"You trust him?"

A pause.

Rather a long pause, for what should be a simple question.

"To guard my back if anything attacks us? Yeah."

Sam studies him for a few more seconds, then nods.

"If you're sure."

He bites his lip, studying Sam in turn.

Slowly: "You're thinking what if it turns out there's more to it than just getting the knife."

He nods again.

Andrew breathes out.

"Yeah." Quiet. "I thought of that too."

Indicating the notepad: "That's why I'm writing this."

"... maybe you should take someone else with you."

"What for?"

Sam stares at him.

"Andrew. Are you kidding me?"

"No," he says, "seriously, what for? To stop him?"

"Yeah, to stop him, if you think there's a chance -- "

He breaks off there in disbelief.

"You've already thought of that, haven't you."

"Course I have."

He searches Sam's face.

"Don't you get it? If that's -- if that's what this calls for ..."

"Then you'll just let him kill you," Sam finishes for him.

"Yeah."

Softer, huskier; a little bruised-sounding.

"Sorry if that's a problem for you."

"You're damn right that's a problem for me," he snaps.

"Because you're my friend, Andrew, and I don't see how you dying helps anyone in the least."

He flinches at that, but doesn't back down.

"If it gets Jonathan his afterlife back? -- The afterlife that I cost him, did you forget that part?"

"No," he grits, low and terse. "No. I haven't forgotten."

He can't help but think of Dean; of their father; of what's yet to come.

As much as he hates to admit it, Andrew's got a point.

Edited 2013-07-02 03:29 (UTC)

"Or that I'm the one who killed him in the first place? Not like 'it was my fault,' like I put him in harm's way or something, I actually killed him?"

Sam's jaw sets, and the look he gives him is flat and level.

"I remember everything, okay? Look, Andrew, just in case you've forgotten, I happen to know exactly what it's like to be the one at fault for someone else's death!"

"No."

His voice is even smaller than before, and sounds somehow younger ... but there's no yielding in it. None at all.

"No, you don't. Not like this. Not unless there's something you haven't told me. Not unless you put the knife in someone yourself."

What flashes before his mind's eye in that instant isn't the memory of Dean after the hellhounds' attack; it isn't Jessica, burning in front of him; it isn't Madison, eyes closed and trusting him to kill her without pain.

It's body after body lying broken after he's ripped the demons from them; it's the ones he and Ruby have killed with the knife, it's the face of the woman that Verity was wearing when he pulled the Colt's trigger.

He presses both hands flat against the table so hard that the knuckles go white.

It's either that or do something he knows he'll regret.

"We're done here."

Sudden misgiving cracks through the steady resolve. "Sam --"

"I mean it," he interrupts.

"Never mind what I've done or haven't done. If you seriously expect me to stand by and approve of you going off to martyr yourself -- "

"That's not what this is, Sam, listen --"

"Oh yeah? Then what is it?"