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
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She stepped on the porch and watched him in silence for a few moments.
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He exhaled a long stream of smoke and ran a hand over his face. Stop thinking about it, Sammy-boy.
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Oh, crap.
"Phoebe. Hi," Sam said in a fatigue-roughened voice.
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"Dude. Anders. 'Sup?"
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"Winchester," he replied, stubbing out his latest cigarette into the coffee can. "What brings you by the haunted house?"
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