He feels like some kind of jacked up villain from a horror movie, stalking him slow like this. No sense in running, but Christ, it feels shitty.

"Sam, I'm me. The hell kind of monster would impersonate your brother but like, twice his age?"

Seriously, though. That's not a monster, that doesn't even make sense. Sam's the one with the brains, even as a kid, Dean knows that has to make some kind of sense. He's sure as hell not addressing the dad and Bobby thing, though, Christ. That's the last thing he needs. Everyone's dead, 'cept you and me pal, sorry.

It's another punch to the gut, one after another, every time Sam opens his mouth. "That ain't on you, Sam."