I'm Sorry, Sam
He clears his throat, reaching out to grab Sam's hand, and pulls himself up. Tongues of flames still lick up and around. Dean winces and glances at his brother.
"Huh," he says, and adds, "I guess you're … my hero." Dean smirks.
Sam huffs. "Shut up." And he gathers his and Dean's fire throwers before clutching Dean's upper arm as his brother sways. "Hey. You okay there?"
"Uh, yeah." Dean crinkles his eyes toward Sam. "And seriously, Sam. Thank you."
"Don't mention it."
"No." He stops in his track. "No. You're right, you know. You know the differences – between good and bad. And I was wrong."
"What are you talking about, Dean?"
"You're all I have, how can I forget that?"
"Dean, did Jack slam you too hard on that table?"
"He might. Come on, Sam. Castiel? He knows nothing about our family. How can I even listen to him?"
"Dean, he yanked you out of hell…"
"And the hell with that. He can throw me back if he wants to. But you know one thing? You – you are the most important thing in my life."
Sam looks intently at his brother. That was – he doesn't want Dean to pay for what he just said. But Sam knows one thing: Dean just made him the happiest little brother on earth. And in hell, perhaps. Whatever.
"Dean?" he asks.
"What?"
"So I'm a thing for you now, is that it?"