Face still in one piece? Check. Limbs still attached? Check. Knee caps still in the right place? Check. So far so good in the not being murdered thing. That was good. Being murdered by monsters was one thing, but being murdered by your own brother from ramming your tongue down his throat? Not so good. Definitely not heroic.
But that speech? Definitely not what Sam had expected to hear. Surely what Dean meant was 'I'm not gonna be some screwed up, twisted rebound for you. You're my brother.' There we go, fixed that for you, Dean.
Sam sighed and pushed himself to his feet. He was so damn hard and all he wanted to do was grab Dean and throw him on the closest bed. Hell, even the couch would do. Or a wall. He wasn't fussy.