Dean snorted. He couldn't imagine the kids hanging around the fire as being impressionable enough to even turn a second glance at the liquor bottle, but he raised the whole thing, bag and all, to take a generous sized swig. "Mmm..." He said appreciatively, setting the bag next to her. He looked at her, considering saying something for a moment but decided against it, but decided against it. What was he going to do, apologize for not calling her like he had promised to do? There had been too much to do in between finding Sam, then keeping them both out of trouble, then rescuing him again from the yellow-eyed demon, then resurrecting him, and she didn't deserve to be dragged in the middle of all of that. He had considered calling her, telling her that he was dying, but what sort of conversation would that have been? No, he had owed her more than a simple goodbye call, and he ran out of time too quickly to do anything to make it up to her.
"Nice night," He said softly, looking out to the ocean. "You could build your own bar out here, cater to the back from hell and straight out of cartoons crowd. I think you'd make a killing.