Dean looked up, frowning a bit at the bottle and raising a hand out of the water to take it, sipping it after a slight nod to his brother. He was definitely an idiot. He didn't want to believe people came around for him. People always left, everyone went away in the end, and he knew he'd be last man standing, because no one would want to stick around him, least of all Sam, when the end came. No one hated Dean more than Dean did, so he knew what there was to actually like about himself. And there wasn't much.
"You can head to bed. I got this," he assured his brother, nodding towards the two small beds across the cabin. This place was Rufus' once, and then Bobby's. Now it was theirs. It was funny how things just kept passing down to them. He didn't want any more inheritance.
Setting the beer down, he finished up washing the bowls and put them to dry, towelling off his hands.