Sam watched Dean carefully, though he sipped at his beer so as to not give himself away. He may not have a soul anymore, but he thought that he still knew Dean's faces and noises, almost as well as he knew his own. That one was Dean buying time, trying not to say something or to change a subject. Sam wondered which one it was. He knew Dean was worried, whether it was by him or about him was a mystery, but the way he likely had cleared out the bunker before Sam came, like he was Hannibal Lecter, said something though.
"It's good that you have someone else - or two someone else's - to replace me, since I'll probably never be the Sam that you knew." He took another drink from his bottle. "But uh, yeah, I'll look at the clothes and see what might fit. Might save me some money. And might take that shampoo, too. Might be the thing that's helping me keep my hair so far into the future."
He didn't really need much. He didn't eat, and he was glad for that. Drinking was just a familiar habit, a creature comfort that he was used to, and actually did do even when he was alone. He didn't sleep. He just... was. And it was cheap.
"So, this is pleasant," he remarked. "Are you ever going to let me meet mom?"