"Not yet," Sandy admitted, still wringing her hands together even as she toed off her shoes and drew her knees to her chest. She caught Cassidy's rambling thoughts and as much as she was about to respond to his question, the rapid cycle of his thoughts threw her off a little. Cassidy never normally was one for spiralling thoughts and that alarmed her too. Catching thoughts of drifting - which she had felt, too - and reminiscing about her time in the infirmary.
She wondered if he realised just how much that had meant to her, that he'd come and stayed and not left until he was booted out to get some rest. She wondered if he knew how much having him there had soothed the damage that solitary had done to her. Probably not. She felt guilt twist in her chest at that; he should. Maybe it was her fault they were drifting. Or at least in part. Outside, they'd always been connected, a loose mental connection that meant they could speak to each other without words. It hadn't been like that here. She was still connected to them individually, a psychic connection she hadn't worked out how to break even if she'd wanted to, but she didn't network them anymore. Maybe if she did that, if she connected them more... Maybe things wouldn't be so bad?
She didn't say anything else for a long moment, just nudged his mind with hers and then slumped to the side, wriggling until her head was resting in his lap like old times on the beat-up couch he and Cas had pulled into the warehouse from... wherever they'd found it. They'd spent hours cleaning it before anyone would sit on it but they had done, and then it had become their favourite, most used piece of furniture in the shitty, drafty warehouse they'd called home.
"I know," she murmured, "I just..." Use your words, she told herself, "I guess I just figure that Tammy needs you more?" It was hesitant, and quite clearly so, and Sandy hated that she'd said it aloud, covering her face with her hand.