Sam, to put it delicately, looked a little bit like hell today. The fact that he'd been edgy and more than slightly freaked out had made him avoidy -- thus smoking out by the ferry landing and not making it home until almost 3 AM, and then crashing out on the couch when he did. It was probably just as well, since he'd slept incredibly restlessly and then gone right back outside to work on his motorcycle when he'd awoken.
Hard to hide this level of agitation when your girlfriend was an empath, after all, and he was fairly sure his behavior wouldn't go unnoticed by Cole, either.
Not that avoidiness wasn't a sign that something was up, either, but it did seem the better of the dilemma's two horns on which to impale himself.
But now the bike was actually working again, thanks in no small part to the sparkplugs Dean had stolen and then given him back for Christmas, and Sam was out on the porch, doing his part to fill a sizable and slightly rusty coffee can with used cigarette butts, and trying very hard to shake the feeling that he'd
made a deal with the devil, for lack of a better term.
[OOC: Open with an openness. ETA, because collapsed threads hide subject lines: Phoebe and Dean's presence totally okay for broadcast; subject of convos, not so much.]