Hard choices. They often found him. They were often wrong, too, judging from the way that Sam chose to look at it. Sam had been wrong to leave Stanford when Dean came for him. He had been wrong to argue with his Dad just before his death. Trusting Jake. Thinking that he could save Dean. A lot of wrongs. Not too many rights. Was this another? Was he adding on to that list? No. That list was gone. He'd never put another reason to hate himself down onto it if he could help it. Aside from...well, all of this. This was pretty fucking bad.
"Except this place isn't home and I can't fight everything here," Sam said, sounding irritated. "There are comic book characters walking through the streets, for God's sake. Can't predict anything." At least at home he knew what to do when he ran across one of the bad guys. Half the stuff that came at him here? He had to research. A hell of a lot more than he did where he was from. Sam was all for the learning, he welcomed it really, but sometimes it got tiring when he had to force himself to forget what he knew in order to fight the bad.
Sam reached for his beer again, fingers nearly bumping into the knife that was settled beside it. An uncomfortable feeling leapt it's way through his stomach and Sam instantly gulped a mouthful of the alcohol down. He was still sort of nervous about all of this. "I guess we should try again. Maybe."