>“Don't give me that crap, Sam. This thing's eating people, and.... wait, where do you think you're going?”
Sam’s glad the subject has changed from whether Sam cares about a monster that’s eating people or not, because it makes his insides squirm a little to realize that he really, genuinely, doesn’t care right now, even though he knows he should, and knows he would most of the time, even in a passive way that still wished he didn’t have to be a part of it. He used to care, whether he wanted to or not. Now, he can’t remember the last time he really cared more than just arbitrarily, more than just because he was supposed to.
Sure, he feels bad that people are suffering. And, okay, he thinks someone should be taking care of it, yeah. Letting those things live isn’t an option. He gets that, he really does. But... why does it have to be their responsibility to save people from these things? Why does it have to be his? He never asked to do this, never asked for this life at all, and maybe none of them did, Dean or Dad or most hunters, but probably none of them ever asked to be let out, either, not like he has.
So, yeah, he’s glad Dean’s focusing in on his preparations to leave, even though ithat’s not going to end pretty, either, because Dean never wants him to go anywhere by himself - never mind that Sam’s practically an adult now, and that this town is safe, and that the library is close by. Never mind that it won’t be dark for a couple of hours, or that he’s got a knife and a gun and holy water and enough Latin bouncing around in his brain to keep him safe from almost anything, supernatural or otherwise.
>"No. We're staying here, remember?"
“You just went out.” Probably not the best way to get what he wants, snapping like that, zipping the bag closed like it’s personally offended him or something. He does that thing Dad always said they were supposed to do, deep breath and tries to calm down, and it sort of works. Mostly. Okay, no, it really doesn’t, but he at least has his tone under control when he speaks again, batting hair out of his eyes (it’s getting too long, but he won’t cut it on principle - yeah, okay, his rebellions are pathetic, he knows that already, thanks).
“We don’t have to stay in the room, Dean. Just... around.” He picks his bag up, slings it over one shoulder (it’s heavy, loaded down with practically everything academic-related that he owns, but it’s not too bad. He’s carried worse in training alone). “I’m just gonna go to the library for a while,” he doesn’t even think he needs to be telling Dean that much, but maybe if his brother knows what he’s planning (like he’d assume it was anything different anyway? Where else is there to go in this stupid town?), Dean will calm down and let him go.