"He's depressed," Sam argued, "it's not his fault he's acting -" She had really nice hips. Really, really nice. Sam inhaled sharply and looked away, already noting that he was beginning to feel riled up on the inside. Crap. "He's got a lot on his mind, I mean. That's why he needs someone around. It helps distract him from all the bad stuff."
Which was partially true. Sam could help him by diverting his focus away from the Hell related stuff and more toward nice, normal, every day routines. He was certain that Dean wasn't fully invested in it, but the attempts at instigating casual conversation and brotherly disputes wasn't exactly a bad thing to go at. No doubt Dean would give in to it all entirely sooner or later. He'd find his big brother again. With work and time, maybe.
"Ruby, I..." He wanted to push that shirt up. Badly. Sam licked at his lips and looked over at her cautiously. He was trying very hard to focus on her face. "You shouldn't be so hard on him. You know what Hell was like. What happens."