>"Why wouldn't I worry about it? Whoever brought you back must have had a damn good reason to do so, right?"
“Couldn’t it just be ‘cause I’m so awesome?” Wishful thinking, and he knew it - the odds of any being bringing him back just because it happened to be kind of fond of him? Unlikely, unless it was, like, Sam or something, but Sam couldn’t do that, obviously hadn’t been the one to do it, if the way he was reacting to this was any indication. If it had been him, he would have been all in favor of putting the whole thing behind them.
>"Besides, whoever is responsible for this had to know that you were dead, right? Which means that there's a good chance that they also know who killed you."
“That Trickster dude,” he waved a hand, vaguely indicating something off to his left, even though the adorementioned Trickster wasn’t there, “He said he knew. Didn’t tell me, though. Douchebag.” His words were a little clumsy, a little slurred together, but he wasn’t drunk yet, so he poured himself another glass and slouched deeper into the booth.
>"You might not wanna think about it. I get that; I do. But, Dean... I can't let this go. Besides, even if I do, do you think Dad will? Hell, even Mom? Someone tried to kill you, Dean. And they succeeded. That's not something that we can just forgive and forget and you know it."
He understands what Sam’s saying - he does, he gets it, because if their situations were reversed, he’d be storming around trying to find the bastard who killed his brother, find out who brought him back and why. But that’s different. That’s his job, that’s what he’s supposed to do, that’s what he’s always done. Doing anything different would be like breathing water. But Sam will just go nuts with all this, turn it around to some sort of quest, like finding Yellow Eyes was after Jess died, like finding a way to break a demon deal was after he’d made one. And Dean wasn’t going to let Sam do that again just because he’d been stupid and gotten himself shot.
“Look, I get it, okay?” He waved a hand again, the hand holding the glass, and liquid sloshed around inside it but didn’t spill over, “But you gotta lighten up a little. I’m here, I’m not goin’ anywhere. We’ll figure it out, but just...”
Just what, exactly? What did he expect Sam to do? How did he expect his brother to just let it drop, without making him drop it? He knew Sam, knew the way he got when he thought he needed to do something. Nothing was going to make him stop unless he decided to do it on his own. “Don’t go too nuts with it, okay?” It wasn’t what he wanted to say - it wasn’t quite enough, and it was almost too much, too close to saying you get obsessed, and it’s not healthy without ever actually going there, and he just shrugged and swallowed what was left in his glass like none of this was wrong, or maybe like all of it was.