God what a question. What, Dean wondered, was he supposed to say to that? It had helped slightly, to get away from everything for a few hours--especially to get away from homself for a few hours. At the bar and after, he hadn't been Dean Winchester, the man who came out of hell with a sob story and a decade he'd rather forget, no, he had been all but a national hero. And that felt good, to pretend for a little while he was someone normal or exceptional in the normal ways.
But it hadn't been a fix by any means. Every minute while he was gone he felt the pain of guilt, the regret for rushing out when so many people at home needed him. And he needed them. Like it or not, Dean wasn't an astronaut, or a member of the CIA. He was just Dean, who missed his family and best friend when he was gone for too long and worried about them.
Because he was Dean, who didn't like talking about his emotions, much less know how to translate that contradicting feeling into words, he just shrugged. "Want to watch a movie?"
If he was anything, Dean Winchester was a master of evasion.