Dean takes the gun, and immediately feels a lot less tense. He hates being defenseless - won't go anywhere, not even in the Camp, without having his weapons on him. Even though Sam has made it clear that he wants Dean to live, Dean can't be at ease - or, at least, as at ease as he gets these days - until he has it back.

He takes the knives, too, and finds a place in Sam's jacket to store them for now.

"I made it this long," Dean tells him. "Might as well stick it out now." In truth, it does seem like he has gotten away without infection, but Dean is still pissed off about being saved - the odds weren't in his favor, and he had no right keeping Dean from killing himself. Especially not after all this time.

He glances at the van, then back at Sam. "Did you bother to fill her up while you were playing hero?" He doesn't wait for a response, because he assumes he knows the answer: Sam was too damn busy trying to make sure Dean would live to go off and siphon gas from somewhere. "Didn't think so. She's got to be running on empty by now."

Dean can't afford to get stuck without a vehicle. He eventually needs to make it back to the Camp.

"Get in the van. You'll watch my back while I get some gas."

It's an order that Dean expects to be obeyed - clearly, he's grown accustomed to being listened to over the past few years. He starts walking without seeing if Sam will follow - not exactly keen on having a tag along who is going to get weepy and sentimental every time something bad happens, but he has at least Sam has proven that he isn't a threat. That, and Dean does need a little backup - he can't even risk closing his eyes without someone to help him keep guard. Might as well use what he's got - pickings are slim.

"Don't think that means I'm gonna sit around and listen to you lecture me," he adds as he walks. "You're still a fucking moron."