Sam regarded Andy for a moment when he said he'd never gotten high. Normally the comment would've been brushed off, maybe even laughed off, but Sam's state of mind made him defensive. What was that supposed to mean? "Can't say I have," Sam said, taking his attention off Andy and turning it forward to the windshield. Marijuana was for the most part for people who didn't want to deal seriously with reality. As appealing as it sounded, Sam knew that it wouldn't solve anything, just put it off. If he was going to bury his head in the sand, he'd rely on the bottle, the way his dad had before when he needed a release. There was more than hunting techniques and bad parenting Sam had learned from John.
"No, you're not listening," Sam said, frustration edging into his voice as he looked over at Andy. "I'm not going to kill you Andy. I'm trying to help you. If you go back, just do whatever you can to get away from her until I can get to you." Sam shook his head. "Yeah, you're going to die if you can't make yourself care about fighting to stay alive," Sam said, knitting his brows together. "I never said you'd turn into Webber, I just...we have to be careful."
Sam listened to Andy talk about his brother and realized for the first time just how close Dean had come to dying that night. Andy had known Webber longer, hell he'd just found out the guy was his brother, being forced to kill him must have been one of the hardest things Sam could think of. "We're not freaks," Sam said, his jaw tightening. He hated that word. It more than any other managed to get his hackles up. "No, but you decide how to deal with being here," Sam clarified. "You don't have any control over being here, but you have control over that."
Sam sighed and swallowed. "I'm sorry too," he said, his voice rough. He cleared his throat. "I know this is a lot to lay on you and I'm not trying to pick a fight, I just... I just thought you should know."