>>“Don't get smart with me. 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”
The mere idea of hitting the road makes everything worse. There’s no comfortable way to sleep in the car, not since he outgrew the ability to stretch out in the back seat (which was, honestly, by the time he was fifteen, but he kept trying until he was sixteen, because trying to convince Dad that he needed room to sleep was like trying to convince him that the sky is suddenly purple or something), and it means they’ll probably have another hunt set up for Dad to go off on, and he just, he wants to stay here, just for a little longer. Here is safe.
He doesn’t bother to say any of that, though, manages not to roll his eyes or sigh or any of that, either, when he sees the look Dean’s giving him, because, okay, yeah, this is sort of stupid and not fair at all, but he’s just going to end up making it worse, because John Winchester invented stubbornness, and even though Sam’s probably as stubborn normally, today he’s not feeling up to the task of out-glaring his father, especially when he doesn’t even want to be glaring and sullen in the first place, because he just wants his father to stop acting like they’re soldiers and not sons, stop acting like none of this really matters outside the big endgame. It matters to Sam.
He lets Dean help him up, does his best not to lean on on him too much because Dean’s still hurt, too, and because the less pathetic he looks, the better - and he leaves the blankets behind, because he’s pretty sure his father’s version of up doesn’t involve being wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, even if he is shivering again, and feeling way too vulnerable without them.