Dean squirms awkwardly, managing to almost wriggle free of Sam's grip, and plunks himself down on the next armchair.

"Quit that. I ain't goin' anywhere, this time. Just..."

Should he mention the hellhound that caught his scent in New York? He looks at Sam for a second. Tired, emotional, looks-like-shit, just-burned-his-brother Sammy.

"...just get some damn sleep."