And of course Sam is mouthing off; the fact he's able to should be reassuring, of course, but it just rubs John up the wrong way, and he doesn't have time for that – they can waste the afternoon sniping and exchanging jibes and indulging this brattish side Sam seems to have developed or Sam can give him the equivalent of a quick status report and they can move on. John's preference, naturally, is for the latter, so he can shove the paralysing fear into a box and carry on with The Quest.
“Don't get smart with me” is as much a weary request as a rebuke, though he's resigned to Sam not getting that, just being his usual surly self and not cutting his father a damn break already. And that's fine – he can be as surly as he likes, just as soon as he gets up off the bed and confirms that there's nothing seriously wrong with him beyond hitting an awkward teenage stage he can't remember going through with Dean, whose rebellion had always been more a case of 'going through the motions' rather than, as seems to be the case with Sam, genuinely starting to loathe him. Sure, he could be the sort of father Sam thinks he deserves – indulge all his weaknesses, put keeping him safe on hold so they can pretend the world isn't a scary and dangerous place, leave him and his brother soft and defenceless – but one day Sam'll understand why he doesn't. “You get up, Sam, and you thank Jo. We'll be hitting the road soon as her mother'n me have had a few words”
Dean swallows hard – he can take a pretty good guess at what sort of 'words' those around going to be – and shifts round to give Sam a hand, turning his back on John so he can't see the just get this over and done with, yeah? glance he shoots his brother, as potent a mix (of fake-hopeful and pleading, sympathetic and not now, Sam) as John's blend of tired-and-concern.