WHO: Sam & Hermione WHAT: Chatting. WHEN: Late afternoon. WHERE: Just outside of Adam's old house. RATING: Nothing terribly high, I'd say.
A hunt, especially one with so many emotional attachments, really did take a lot out of a person. No, Sam hadn't come all the way out to Wisconsin to hunt down ghouls dressed up like himself and his mother, but seeing a ghoul that looked just like Adam (who Sam was finally beginning to accept into his life) had left him pretty shook up. Adding that onto everything else that he'd had weighing on his shoulders and Sam found that he really needed to take a break. As soon as things had settled from the hunt, in fact, Sam took the first opportunity that he could find for himself to slip off onto the back porch for a quiet moment alone. Pulling up the collar of his jacket, Sam carefully shut the back door behind himself and moved across the porch. His boots clunked against the wooden panels underneath him, Sam walked over to the steps and sat down at the very top of them all. Fingers locking together, he propped his elbows onto his knees and leaned forward, attention shifting away from the hunt they were wrapping up and focusing on...well, other things.
Mostly Adam. He was worried for him. Being out here, back in his old home where he had been killed alongside his mother wasn't easy. It couldn't have been. Sam wished he knew what to do or say to make the trip easier for the younger man, but he honestly didn't. Sam had been in his shoes before. He'd lost everything, once. Sometimes no matter how genuinely hard people tried, there wasn't anything that could be done about the pain. Adam didn't need speeches declaring that everything would be okay someday; telling him that he'd deal and move on. Some people didn't deal. They didn't move on. The most that Sam could do was offer his support - he would be there to help Adam out as much as he could, even if Adam didn't want him to be.
Sighing, Sam reached up and raked his fingers through his dark hair. It needed to be trimmed. The only reason that Sam hadn't bothered taking a pair of scissors to it yet was because he was pretty sure Ruby would kill him for it. Sam smiled faintly at the thought, one hand reaching for his jacket pocket. He dipped his fingers inside, wrapping them around the box that he'd picked up from Eliot before his departure from Lawrence. Soon. He'd ask her soon.