#swstarter.

          Sam absently sipped from the cup in his hands. He hadn't noticed it went cold a little while back. His gaze remained glued to the screen. ❝Will you keep it down? ❞ he practically sniped. ❝I'm trying to concentrate.❞

           He doesn't wanna say the words. Doesn't want the fight. Only he can't help it. The truth in them is too potent and Sam needs them to see it. ❝ you can’t even look out for yourself, how the hell are you gonna look out for me ? ❞

        Amusement threatened to spill across Sam's features as he gave the other a look. Whatever the other saw on his face it was far from threatened. ❝ You’re really not very good at this; I saw you coming a mile off. ❞

      This was it. Now or never. Sam looked up slow, cautious. ❝ do you believe in the afterlife ? ❞ He was in his last years of high school. Too old to really pass it off as an innocent question a kid asks of their peers, the way he had once or twice before. When Sam had to get civilians his own age to safety he had to think how to do it without really blowing his and his family's cover. Sam cleared his throat. ❝Just don't stay here alone tonight, okay?❞ He'd have to regroup. Get supplies. But first thing he had to do? Figure out what he was up against. First thing John ever taught them about hunting.

          Sam's gaze was lined with suspicion. His features were all steely wariness. ❝Why'd you help me? ❞ It's to the point. Straightforward. He invited the same.