...As usual, it didn’t seem to enter into their minds that maybe it didn’t have to be that complicated. Using Sam as bait was a horrible idea. If it sounded like a plan, they called it a plan, and he was supposed to just tag along and do as he was told, but this time he wasn’t going to, striding ahead of both of them with his jaw clenched tight and his head down, eyes moving to make sure he wasn’t about to be ambushed or something, and his grip on the axe in his hand shifted to something more ready to chop down a wall with.
He didn’t need to be told to make sure Sam got out of there okay - that was probably the part that chafed the most, because it reminded him of every other job they’d done together, every time his father had left them behind for a job they weren’t good enough (or old enough) to help with. Look after Sammy, which had been twisted around and turned into If you can’t save him, you’ll have to kill him, and ruined everything.
That had been the start of their downfall, hadn’t it? If Dad had never said that, things would have been fine - because it didn’t matter what Dad said, he was never going to be able to hurt Sam.
The impact of the blade of his axe with the outside of the building was satisfying but not quite what he wanted, it didn’t sound right and there was no blood, it wasn’t quite - and it looked like they’d be able to get through it, thankfully. He hadn’t even though about what if it’s brick, until the first splinters of wood were falling around him and he felt like he could breathe again, because they were going to get in and they were going to get her out of there and then everything was going to be fine, damnit, because he wasn’t going to let it be anything else.