[ At this point, right now, Dean doesn't care about which booze it is, as long as it's burning its way through him, carving a path that he can't see, emptying out everything he doesn't need and can't stand to exist within. It's always been his relationship with alcohol, a thing to hide inside of, a thing to abuse when he needs it most. When the world is a thing he can't tolerate but when he is the thing he can't stand most of all. It blurs his everything, makes it so he can't see the monster he's become and he's sure that Cas knows it. Knows that Cas is watching him drink, watching him hate himself, watching him self destruct. And there's nothing he can do but walk the same path he's wandered a hundred times before.

But talk of Sam is like offering cake to the hungry - giving something good where it's needed. He may have had issue with Sam and women before, in Purgatory where Amelia became what Sam craved more than saving his life, but this isn't Purgatory and this is Amelia and right now he can't find it in himself to be upset or jealous that Sam has something that's somehow easier than what he's trying so hard not to look for.

And that smile: it's so obvious and it makes Dean shake his head, lingering on just how much of a matchmaker he isn't, but he can still offer tidbits. Give his brother away as best as he can, tease and torment and still say the good shit. ] It's annoying. [ But his words lift upright, almost jovial, amused at his brother for being the man he is and for himself for being something opposite. ]

But someone's gotta like it.

[ The key missing word there being: you. You have to like it, you get to like it because he knows you do. The hair tuck, the nervous gesture, it's all there and Dean doesn't push because he's not one to talk right now (or ever) but it's there. He isn't blind. ] Not like I know where it comes from either, but hey- he's pulled me outta more trenches than I can count. Even with the feel good talk.