Two hours, no symptoms. He's not clear of the threat just yet, but now that he's made it this far — forced into riding it out — he might as well see it to the end.

It isn't like Sam was kind enough to leave him his freaking gun.

"Don't tell me what I should or shouldn't do," Dean snaps, and yeah, it's pretty freaking tempting to just let loose on Sam, but he restrains himself because he has other questions. "Everything I do is for survival." Not necessarily the survival of his little group, but the survival of the world — the idea that he can get to Lucifer before there are no survivors left.

Then, the most important question: "Where's my fucking gun, Sam."

And his knives, which are probably in the blood jacket Sam's now wearing.

"Gimme 'em. Now."