He hesitated, just for a moment. This just didn't seem right to him. He was sitting here, waiting up for him, with coffee. He pulled his head back a little, his brain ticking away at the possibilities circulating this particular situation. It took a moment longer than usual to realize that the chances of him being shouted at in the middle of the night seemed a hell of a lot less likely than the chances of his father wanting to actually sit down and have a reasonable conversation with him. That, he supposed, was something that could have been blamed on the alcohol.
Dropping his bag next to the door, Sam reached down and took the mug from his father, long legs swinging forward as he settled down on the top step beside him.
Bringing the mug up to his nose to sniff at it - a habit that he had unreasonably developed with coffee lately - Sam blinked a little at the strong scent before he tipped the mug back and took a careful sip. If anything, the caffeine had been a pretty good idea to jolt his senses. That one sip had made things less fuzzy for him.
"Thanks," he muttered, hands wrapping themselves around the mug between his legs. He looked down at it, quietly trying to figure out, again, the chances of them having a shouting match in the middle of the street at this hour.