The fuck is his life anymore. He doesn't know; Sam was his anchor, the only goddamn thing that kept him tethered to this clusterfuck and now he had his baby brother here and he was offering him smokes and asking about laptops and -

Jesus.

"We're doin' it outside," Dean mutters, because like hell is he letting Sammy smoke at all, but he's sure as hell not doing anything in here where the smell's gonna linger.