Dean wants to point out that he's survived years living the way he does, making the choices to shoot down those who were potentially infected without pausing to ask questions, but he doesn't need Sam to counter with the fact that he nearly got himself killed just a couple of hours ago. Instead, he says, coldly, "We better split up soon, then," as he gets in the driver's seat of the van. And that's the plan — he and Sam obviously aren't going to see eye-to-eye on anything, so it's pointless trying to stick together beyond necessity.

Dean drives a few miles. He passes a gas station — what's left of it, at least — but they're all empty these days. His best bet is to find a vehicle and hope there's still some gas inside.

He notices Sam jolt awake because he glances in the rear view mirror at the right time. He wouldn't be surprised if Sam is riddled with nightmares — a lot of survivors are. It's common to hear people crying out in the middle of the night at the Camp. Not that Dean is going to think too deeply about it, or have a heart-to-heart with Sam about it. That's just the way it goes when the world is basically over.

For most people. Dean's nightmares stopped a while back.

"Good timing," he states, just as he slows the car down. "We're gonna see if this one has anything in it." He gestures to a car as they pull up to it. "I got a container in back."