Sam's making sure for a second time he's got what he needs with him: that pouch of coins in his jeans pocket, the knife that Avandrel had loaned him in its sheath, a sketch of Dean that he'd worked probably way too hard on and he could practically hear his brother teasing him about it in the back of his head. Like Dean wouldn't do something similar to look for him.

He glances over at his younger companion when he speaks, and gives him a nod in reply, shoving his hands in his pockets. By now anyone who had been paying any attention to him over the last five days would recognize it as a pretty familiar gesture from Sam. "Sure. Shoot."