You know, that whole lyric thing?

Well, turns out, it hadn't been nearly as dramatic as I thought it would be—guess I didn't think to realize I'd still have to spend the rest of the night with him and his "We can't do this, Dean" mentality. He paced around for an hour plotting out everything that could possibly go wrong, before (and as) he shared them with me.

Now, maybe I'm slightly exaggerating, and maybe I overreacted, too, but what happened next wasn't entirely my fault. He asked for it.

As you know, my entire day had been great. I was so happy, and the kid totally ruined my mood. So, I became determined to return the favor. I wanted him to hurt, and in my best effort to piss him off, I made up some story about my eventful day. Told him how I got into a fight with Tom, because he'd seen me kissing his girl; how I'd kicked his ass and set him straight too.

"You were smart not to get tangled up with her, Sam. Crazy bitch's nothing but trouble." I laughed. He just stood there, leaning against the door, studying me.

I knew he didn't believe me, and it made me feel nervous inside. I knew he was looking, just waiting, for me to crack— waiting for me to laugh and tell him I was only joking.

I would have, normally. It's not like I can take it when he stares at me with that confused, puppy-dog-be-honest, look—but not today. Today I just walked on past him as if I'd meant every word.

He shook his head, struggled with 'that' concept, and forgot about it.

"Cheer up, Sammy," I smiled my chummy smile. "There are plenty of other fish in the sea. Better ones, ones like Jess. You hungry? I can make… something."

"Naw, I'm not hungry."

"You sure?"

"Yeah. I think I'm just gonna go to bed."

Slightly offended, I let the fact he'd laughed at my cooking slide, but only to inform him of the sleeping arrangements. "Okay," I sighed. "I hear the couch is heavenly."

"There aren't any beds?" He looked around.

"Oh, there are beds. One, actually, but, dude, I got the job, I get dibs."

"Whatever, Dean." He said, without a shrug, a smile, or finger. He just walked away. That ticked me off even more. I was tempted to keep haunting him, but I let that slide too.

I don't know what it was, but when I was around Sam, it was like I'd been programmed to destroy him, or something. He looked like crap, and I know he felt like crap, so why I couldn't just leave him be was beyond me.

It was scary.