In another second, though, his blood ran completely cold.
He remembered...
If this thing goes our way, and I Triple Lindy into that box, you know I'm not coming back.
He remembered the last time he'd seen Sam. He could barely see him, at the time. Sam, it's okay. It's okay. I'm here. I'm here. I'm not gonna leave you. I'm not gonna leave you. One eye was completely swollen shut and the other was well on its way. Dean had a mouth full of blood, and instead of hitting him again, his brother stopped Lucifer from pounding a fist into bone one more time. It's okay, Dean. It's gonna be okay. I've got him.
Dean had no idea what he was supposed to say. He remembered his Hell, too, but compared to Sam's, his was fucking Spring Break. And Dean was a functioning alcoholic because of it. Had been, ever since.
He thought about John, then. How many times he'd asked Dean to watch out for Sam, to take care of him. The cold in his veins turned to an empty pit in his stomach. The one thing he was ever supposed to do, and he couldn't even do it.
"I'm sorry," Dean said. It wasn't loud, and it wasn't full of conviction, but Dean never apologized for things. He was sorry. Did Sam even want to hunt anymore?
It took a minute to get his normal, gruff voice back, but once he did, Dean asked.