"All right, Rambo. You're a hard ass, I get it." Sam almost declines entirely, but he has the same thought process -- Dean will probably get his ass attached by Croats, and if Sam sticks around long enough to get him gas, then whatever. Truth be told, he wants to run in the opposite direction; Dean's already destroyed the small sacred memory he had of their old brotherhood. He doesn't want to watch this train wreck. Rather his own. "I don't need to lecture you. You already know you're out of your mind. Just go where you're going so I can move on, before you end up shooting me because I blink funny."

Lecture, what lecture. He can at least say he hasn't lost every ounce of sass. Maybe it was waiting for Dean. He sits in the very back of the van, folds his arms, ready to nap until Dean actually needs him. He doesn't get much sleep, but it's worsened by the constant badgering from the devil. He's tired in pretty much every way imaginable.

"Found Dean, huh? What a class act."

"Shut up."

"I'm just saying, the Angels abandoned everything. Your brother hates you. Could just make this easy for yourself."

"No."

"Broken record."

Sam wakes up with a violent start, a few minutes after he falls asleep.

Nevermind on sleep tonight, then.