He could feel the control he had over his anger slip away but he managed to resist the urge to punch the wall or throw something. It didn't matter how calm and collected he tried to be, he always snapped. "I didn't say you actually cared, because I already know you don't give a fuck, Sam. They are just additions, not replacements."
Dean hated how, now matter the situation, Sam always seemed to remain even keeled, and, at the same time, he was grateful for it. It was how they worked, he would get upset and Sam would be there to talk him down, mostly. But, this Sam couldn't care less either way and it was frustrating and painful. "If you really wanted to see her that badly, I'm pretty sure you wouldn't give a fuck about what I wanted. If you want to see her, fine, I can't stop you from doing that. I do have a life here, Sam." He added bitterly, his hand gripping the back of the chair.
He gave Sam a pointed look and reached over to snatch the empty bottle. "Yeah, sure, I'll be right back." Dean growled and stormed off to the kitchen. He dropped the empty in the trash and grabbed another cold one for Sam. He was only gone a minute and he handed the bottle over upon returning. "If you hurt her, Sam, I- none of it was her fault, alright? If nothing else, you need to know that. God, Chuck, he's a fucking piece of shit and we're just the little playthings he became obsessed with. It was always going to be this way and there wasn't a damn thing mom could do to stop it. Hell, it even dates back on dad's side of the family. This whole thing, it was some kind of fucked up destiny, set in stone before we were ever born."