"I thought this was what you wanted."
"It was. Things changed."
Sam shifts in bed, props his head on his hand. "What things?"
"I don't expect you to get it, OK? You've just gotta trust me."
"But, Dean..."
His eyes are watering. "Don't make this harder than it has to be."
"I don't understand what you want me to do."
"Bbb-FFFFGGHGHH-uh! HRRRRRRSHSHSHH! Hah-HAHHHTCHCHHH-gfkkhkTCHchh!" Dean lifts a tissue, hesitates, and lets it drop. He sniffles. "I can't. I just can't. You've gotta go back and get the kind with lotion, Sam."
Sam sighs, kicks back the covers. "Just those?"
"And cyanide."