"Yeah, well, figure out if you're going to be popping morals when it's convenient — getting them just to die for me is a pain in the ass," he says, voice rough. He closes his good eye and is quiet for a long moment, drifting in his exhaustion. Of course, Lucifer can't leave him alone; he mumbles in his sleep, twitching, mostly incoherent; the best to get out of it is why didn't you let me die. When he opens his eye again, he finds the other still isn't cooperating. His face is smashed against the bottom seat cushion.

"Dean," his voice rumbles, nervous, "What are we going to do if the gun doesn't work?"