Dean suddenly felt like that he was sitting on a chair on at game show. And that was the million dollar question. It sounded ridiculous but Sam was pushing this and he really wanted to not talk about it beyond what he had said. And it was clear in his brother's tone that Sam didn't think he could handle it. Which highly annoyed the hell out of Dean. Which wasn't fair because Sam didn't even know what the fuck was going on and he was already juding that he couldn't handle it. He could tell. He knew his brother. It made Dean want to shut down further. Because he would tell Sam and Sam would think he was being ridiculous and he didn't need to hear it said out loud to know. Sam, not including Ruby who Dean was happy to ignore as much as he could, had relatively normal relationships. ... When you ignored the fact that most of them died. The parts before the dying were normal. Were real. Had been relatively done right.
However, he was Dean. He wasn't going to say that. "Drop it, Sam." And instead of giving his brother a chance to interrupt he continued, "A lot of them seem to want to." Dean did see the plus of it. Having more hunters. Two years ago to the day he might have been bit more looking forward to the prospect. Sure he'd have the same worries. How much everyone could handle. Being uncomfortable about having them out there in general, being the go-to people. So many things that he was still worried about. And now he was grateful about the fact that he could concentrate more on Lilith. But there was a small part of him, that felt like, and then what? With more hunters meant more time on his hands. Less distractions in between. More time with his own thoughts. More beer? More sex? What what? More emptiness? More nothing. It might seem selfish but ... he knew that there were way too many creatures out there for even the big group of people coming around to help to have that much of a noticeable affect on his routine. He knew that rationally. Irrationally ... like the way he believed that he could make thirty years of what he did in Hell right up here. With himself.
Dean finished up his sandwhich and he hesiatated again. He was doing it again. He knew he was. About what was bothering him before with Buffy and would do it again what was bothering him now with the idea of more hunters. He knew that Sam would press on both. And he really didn't want to talk about either. However, he had been just thinking about letting Sam in. Fuck! Even his thoughts were turning against him. Letting Sam in? What kind of chick flick, touchy feely stuff was that? But the thing was. Dean would take that? ... in small ounces, but he'd take it. Over what they had. So he picked one and hoped for the best. "Buffy." It was hard for him to say it. After a long pause he said it. And even then he hesitated. "That's who I was .. I was just thinking about her." A part of his tone was a little bit defensive and a lot of 'eh, it's nothing'. Because thinking about her didn't make any of it significant. "It's ... fine. It's stupid, don't worry about." There was a note that said he just wanted Sam to just let it go. Even though a very tiny part of him wanted to know. What he had to do to make sense of any of it.
He paused again. "You know how I said before ... when .. she's ... Buffy is .. we talked." Starting there was good.