At the Council Library

[stilljustandrew]

Sam's been here before, a couple of years ago.

Very little has changed; it still has the timeless feel of most libraries, the central rotunda still vast and hushed and reverent.

Comments

[stilljustandrew]

Quiet: "Wanna take a break?"

[gavemea_45]

"Probably should," he agrees, after a few moments' silence.

Sam's still staring at the book when he adds,

"I just hate to waste the time, is all."

[stilljustandrew]

"You got a deadline?"

He's only half kidding.

[gavemea_45]

Do I ever.

"I don't know, do I?" he counters, with a rueful grin. "I forgot to ask what time this place closes."

[stilljustandrew]

Andrew opens his mouth, and pauses.

"You know," he says, "I'm not sure when it does close. Or if. I could ask?"

[gavemea_45]

"If you don't mind?"

A beat.

"I mean -- I already appreciate that you're doing this, Andrew; I don't want to impose, or anything."

Not that he wouldn't impose in a heartbeat if it meant saving Dean, but it's still true.

[stilljustandrew]

"You're not," Andrew tells him, earnestly. "Don't even."

He pulls a sheet of notepaper into service as a bookmark, and starts to get to his feet.

"Be right back."

[gavemea_45]

"'Kay. Thanks."

As Andrew heads off through the stacks, Sam turns his attention back to the texts in front of him-- and then just buries his face in his hands, breathing a little unsteadily.

It's hard not to sink into disappointment. Despite the fact that what he and Dean had found here last time hadn't crossed over to their world in any sort of linear fashion, a part of him had hoped, given the size of the place and its resources, that the answer he so desperately needs would be there somewhere. Maybe even listed under "demonic contracts, escape clauses for," or something like that.

But it's not, and so far nothing he's found looks promising. Not really.

He takes a few seconds to get a grip on himself -- then swallows hard, wipes the back of one hand across his eyes, and gets back to work.

[stilljustandrew]

Behind him, in the aisle between two shelves, Andrew stands watching him with a stricken look on his face.

(He encountered another of the library assistants two aisles over, saving him the walk all the way back to the front desk. And clearly he's returned earlier than Sam expected.

He didn't mean to be sneaking back; it's just that they're in the library, and in the library it's important to be quiet.)



"Sam?"

[gavemea_45]

He spins around in his seat.

"Andrew."

Beat.

"That was fast." Sam's searching his face very carefully. "What'd they say?"

[stilljustandrew]

It doesn't take too careful a search to see the worry in Andrew's face.

"Officially they close at four AM. You can get a reading room kept open by arrangement after that, but...."

He trails off, biting his lip.

"You okay, man?"

[gavemea_45]

His friend's concern is visible, but there's only one way to answer it. Sam shakes his head at Andrew.

"I'm fine. Just been staring at the books too long. You know how that is; hard on the eyes."

[stilljustandrew]

"Sam --"

Instead of circling the table to take his own chair again, Andrew tugs over another to sit closer, leaning forward, hands flat on his knees.

"Come on. Don't give me that." The words may be brusque; the tone is closer to pleading.

[gavemea_45]

"I'm okay," he insists. "I'm okay."

Sam lets out a slow breath, and meets Andrew's eyes with a steady gaze.

"You really want to help?"

[stilljustandrew]

"Yeah." Very softly. "Yeah, I do."

With an effort, he doesn't add of course or you know that, or anything else that might sound like a reproach.

[gavemea_45]

He nods anyway, as if he's heard the unspoken thought. Sam holds his glance, and there's no sign of uncertainty as he says, just as quietly,

"Then stop asking." A beat. "Please."

Don't make me lie to you.

[stilljustandrew]

The words make a short silence around them, deeper than the library's general quiet.

Andrew searches his face, making no effort at all to hide it.

(nothing's wrong ... you don't ask me that)




"You're sure?"

[gavemea_45]

He knows what Andrew's looking for. Sam stays still and lets him look, holding his glance and his ground in an unyielding silence.

Long moments pass.

Finally,

"I'm sure." Still quiet, but absolutely firm.

[stilljustandrew]

Slowly Andrew nods.

Whatever reason Sam has for not wanting to talk about it ... they're his own reasons, and not anyone else's. There's no sign of threat or duress in his face.



"Okay."

He doesn't drop his gaze.

"Okay."

[gavemea_45]

"Okay," Sam echoes -- and then he smiles. There's something tired and weary about it, but it's unquestionably real.

"Thanks." A beat. "Because I gotta tell you, man -- if this keeps going like it has been and you start trying to, I don't know, feed me soup or something the way Mac did, I'm gonna have to do something drastic."

[stilljustandrew]

Beat.

"She fed you soup?"

Awh, his face says. (In utter earnest.)

[gavemea_45]

"Uh-huh."

He looks bemused at the recollection of it.

"I guess she thought I hadn't eaten recently enough, or something."

[stilljustandrew]

"Or maybe she thought you could use some comfort food."

Andrew clearly approves.

[gavemea_45]

"Maybe. I guess."

He sounds a little doubtful about it, but willing to grant the possibility. Sam glances at Andrew.

"She said you said something about thinking I could use a friend."

[stilljustandrew]

The smile fades.

"Yeah." Low. "Yeah, I guess I did. Say something like that."