|sam winchester (bornunder) wrote in the100,|
@ 2015-04-05 22:34:00
|Entry tags:||castiel, sam winchester|
Who: Sam and Cas
What: Cas decides to bother Sam about why he's not bothering them.
When: Sunday evening
Where: their unit
Warnings: probably low.
Sam was fine. Really, he was, because he was always fine. Even when he wasn't, although that wasn't the case at the moment. Not really.
There were things that were wrong with this situation, of course, but none of them were really bothersome or pressing enough for him to complain about them. The Apocalypse was over, and it was hard to worry too much about the future. One after another, they had handled each problem that had arisen and put it to rest, or at least that was how it sounded-- though of course it sounded simpler in the retelling than it would have been to live through it. It also meant that Sam's plan to end the world's problems in order to stop hunting, or die trying, wouldn't be coming true anytime soon. It was easier to embrace that than he might have expected, maybe simply because it wasn't true here. Although he had taken it to heart enough that he'd stopped waffling about whether he should be pretending to be (relatively) normal, or to be open about his background, job, and skill sets. He was a hunter stuck in a wasteland where his talents would still be needed, and it would be far too much energy to try to keep up a farce that wasn't even necessary.
So things had started to settle in some balance of normal. He couldn't shake the feeling that something else was still wrong, that it related to Dean, but Dean seemed better-- seemed like he was going out and having fun with his friends, including Cas. It was an improvement upon the way he'd been watching Dean slowly lose his appetite and will to keep fighting prior to getting here, and it was a relief to see that five years later his brother was still alive and in many ways the same. But he also wasn't entirely sure where he fit into Dean's life here, since they weren't hunting, since they weren't staying in the same room, and since he felt out of place with Dean's group of friends. So he'd simply been hovering around the edges, going about his business, letting Dean and Cas do whatever it was they were doing here. He didn't have any real reason to ask them to do anything else, either for their sake or his own.
It was fine, really. It was just different.
He was still in the same general living space, and not inclined to spend too much time in his own room-- it felt a little strange just having his own room-- so when he worked, it was usually in the common area. On this particular night, he was working on patching up his shirt. It had taken him a while to get the blood out of the cloth, and a lot of the color had been leached out as well. Normally he might have just thrown it away, but the holes weren't that big and the color didn't really matter, it could still be a functional shirt. Now that supplies were so limited, Sam wasn't inclined to let it go to waste.
He sat in one of the chairs in their small, underground unit, bent over the shirt with a needle and thread, patching up the small holes as neatly as he could. It was precise and absorbing work, and he wasn't paying much attention to anything that was going on around him.