Because he was so awesome. Yeah, right. Sam deadpanned at the statement, then shook his head and tapped at the edge of his glass with a finger. If only things were that simple. In the world that they lived in, nothing ever was. Not really; for them, it always had to be difficult. "What?" Sam looked up from his glass, interest lighting his features. "You think he's telling the truth? I mean, he wasn't actually there, was he?" How was it that the Trickster always knew everything that was going on with them? Sam didn't get it. It made him half wonder if he disguised himself as one of them and ran around pretending to be someone they were close with or something. It didn't really matter how the Trickster knew though; the important thing was that they figured out what he did know. Making a mental note to potentially try talking him up later (not that it'd be a pleasant confrontation - a person sort of learned to hate someone when they made them watch their brother die a hundred times over before forcing them to live for months after as a hollow, empty...thing), Sam pushed some of his hair out of his eyes and drew in a breath.
Dean wasn't going to stop him at it, then. Good. Not that he would have been able to keep Sam from looking into things anyway. There was only but so much Dean could do beyond telling him to drop it. But since Dean definitely knew better than to believe that Sam would ever let something like his murder go, Sam found that he was relieved to find that he was, at least, being agreeable about it. Don't go too nuts with it, okay? Sam nodded. He'd remind himself that at least Dean was alive this time. It wasn't like before. He wasn't alone and Dean wasn't in Hell. If Sam had anything to say about it, it'd never be like that again.
"Okay. I'll try a more sane approach this time." Better than drunkenly storming a crossroads and screaming at a demon, anyway. Deciding to leave it at that, Sam looked across the table and carefully observed his brother for a short moment. Dean was begin to take on a slur. The alcohol was doing it's job, all right. A twinge of sadness tickled at his insides at the thought that Dean was only drinking that stuff because it was the only way to deal with what was really going on in his head. Drinking was a poor coping method, but Sam got it. He did. That was how he had dealt with Dean's death, mostly. He didn't approve of it, but Sam got it. That still didn't mean that tonight had to be a total bust, did it?
"Hey," Sam leaned in, brows rising carefully. "Why don't we go ahead and make the most out of tonight? You need some extra cash?" They could cheat at pool or something. Turn it into less of a survival necessity and more of doorway to their personal entertainment for once.