( The long, beleaguered exhale Dean sighs out in answer is clearer than a neon sign. He settles himself back atop his stool, drink in hand — no game necessary to have him sipping at it. )

Buddy, you don't even know the half of it. ( It's a lament, but honestly, it's more fond than anything. Damn, he misses his brother. Misses how simple things were back then too, though maybe not so much having to play mediator. ) Damn near every other thing was up for debate, if you asked him. You could stick him in a round room and he'd still somehow find a corner to argue with.

( In hindsight he may have been right about some of it, but catch him ever admitting that to Sam's face. )

You the oldest?

( Do you know his struggle? Join him in the early grave he'll be headed to from all those stress tumors of his youth. )