( There once was a time when Dean was younger that this conversation might have irked him. Might have rubbed him the wrong way, or made him defensive. Now, at nearly forty years old — not counting the decades in hell — and after everything he's been through?

It just makes his lips quirk gently into something almost wry. Reserved, subdued, but there's a trace amount of good humor in there if you know where to look. )

Ya know... ( He grunts absently, fiddling with the ratchet he's got lodged elbow-deep in metal car guts. ) My brother used to say something like that. And you're right, both of you. I know you're right. It's a lesson I feel like I keep learning, but no matter how many times I learn it...

( A slow, absent sway of his head. )

Growing up, when I was a kid, I used to think maybe if I was exactly who he wanted me to be, maybe he'd stop leaving us. That kinda thing... it ain't so easy to shake, no matter how many times I tell myself I've grown out if it.

( There's a small huff, breathy, almost a laugh. )

Frankly, at this point I'm not sure which one would have him rolling in his grave harder, me screwing dudes, or palling around with somebody with yellow eyes that isn't human. He's probably spinning hard enough to generate enough electricity to power the Eastern Seaboard.