( Sam earns a singular ridiculous snort at you think we need to take up leading this group? Low and loud and through his nose, like a precursor to an ugly laugh that doesn't ever actually come. Trying to lead this group would be like trying to herd twenty-seven cats into a bag while blindfolded, if you ask him. You're just in for a bunch of yowling and claw marks and a ripped up bag and maybe, like, six new cats tops. No, corralling the troops was way more Sam's thing toward the end, Dean doesn't have as much patience anymore. He's more of a "step up to the plate as needed" guy, he'd rather lead seal team six than the whole damn army.
Happy enough to table that at first.
Less happy about tabling it when Sam brings up The Stuff, and his head rolls back on his shoulders so he can stare at the ceiling in pointed, telegraphed annoyance. You can give that pointed glance to the bottom of his chin, Sam, he ain't looking. )
So what's your point? Crap got weird, just like crap always gets weird, and now it's not weird anymore. End of story.
no subject
Happy enough to table that at first.
Less happy about tabling it when Sam brings up The Stuff, and his head rolls back on his shoulders so he can stare at the ceiling in pointed, telegraphed annoyance. You can give that pointed glance to the bottom of his chin, Sam, he ain't looking. )
So what's your point? Crap got weird, just like crap always gets weird, and now it's not weird anymore. End of story.