He didn't like that either of his parents were worrying about him. They each had enough on their plates as it were; his own personal issues surely didn't need to become their own. It was becoming terribly obvious that, as much as he had tried, Sam had failed to distract them all well enough to keep them from stressing. Otherwise his Dad wouldn't be sitting out here in the middle of the night, waiting for him to come home just so that he could express his own concern for him. Sam wasn't going to lie: that worried him more than anything.
"God, not you too," Sam started, his defenses instantly lining up. He didn't mean for them to. It was just that lately, with Heather, he constantly found himself having to defend her from people left and right. The walls always came quick when it came to her. Sam simply couldn't bear to sit back and watch the people around him hurt the woman that he loved.
He reached up and rubbed at his temple with one hand, eyes closing in frustration. "We're in a rough patch, Dad. There's nothing to face." Except, of course, for that one lingering question that he couldn't quite pry from his mind: 'Are you happy?