"Been there, done that, bought the t-shirt," Dean replies, shrugging Sam's comments off. He is aware of his own mortality - he faces it every day, after all - and Dean definitely isn't keen on going back to Hell, but he doesn't focus any energy on thinking about the afterlife. The way he sees it, he has to do whatever necessary to bring down Lucifer once and for all. If that road leads to Hell, then so be it. If he's successful, at least Dean will have accomplished something before being tossed back down there.

He doesn't try to make any further conversation. Instead, he lets Sam go his way. Dean turns, heading back toward his van, parked just down the road. He's going to need gas, soon, which he was hoping to put off until daylight, but if he's heading back out on the road already, then sooner would be better than later.

He makes it to the van, pulls the handle, and is halfway into the seat when a Croat gets the jump on him.

He hadn't seen the Croat, which isn't like Dean - usually he's good at spotting them, even in the dark, since he's had so much practice. Freaking Sam - distracting him. He shouldn't have let that happen, but here he is, a Croat looming over him, cutting its stomach open.

Shit.

The blood pours out all over Dean - his jacket, his shirt, his skin. The Croat - a woman - rubs a hand over her stomach wound as Dean struggles to raise his pistol, reaches forward toward Dean's face -

And Dean shoots it, a single shot sounding in the night.

He shoves the corpse off of him quickly, but the damage is done. He's covered in blood and the chance that he's managed to be infected is pretty damn high. Dean was in a scuffle with Croats just yesterday, and while he doesn't have any gaping wounds, he did suffer a couple of scrapes, which may not be completely scabbed over. He sits back up, pistol still in hand.