Maybe. Yeah, okay- Dean wants to shoot something back unkind and sharp, pop Sam upside the head for firing back with the same bullshit; entirely unfair, he knows. But he knows Sam isn't really trying to, that if he's actually been here for weeks then he's... got the right to pick up archery? Is that what this is? Dean doesn't even know and instead he drags a hand down his face while he charges up the stairs, all full of intention, wanting nothing more than to get to a room that's free of prying eyes and ears.
"Better not make me Little John."
His gaze lifts upright, the words mumbled under his breath more than anything just for something to say that isn't outright mean and frustrated and pissed off. But they're all just for show, feelings that are by far easier to deal with than his real ones, the things boiling just beneath the surface. The terror and the upset, the pain that he wants to crawl his way away from just to breathe for one second. And he's faking all of it, trying to layer tolerable emotions on top of intolerable ones just for a seconds reprieve.
But okay, Sam really has been here for a few weeks and that he still can't wrap his mind around, wants to keep asking it over and over until he's really got a grasp on the idea. Because it means a variety of things, but mostly that Dean doesn't understand, and his jaw clenches in annoyance, bolting tight and hard until he can find a way to answer the rest of what Sam's asked of him.
Wait- a sore back? The fuck's that supposed to mean? Dean flashes a look over his shoulder and manages to look somewhat quizzical, before he's turning his attention towards the room that Sam's pointed him to, almost immediately trying to shoulder his way inside.
"Woke up in a room, yeah." Whether or not he was in any pain wasn't something he was going to address, not in the slightest, and he flashes a look around this room instead, trying to take in potential differences, all the things that are worth seeing, thinking on, trying to understand. "Pretty nice accommodations - always figured if we were gonna get kidnapped, we'd end up in someone's basement somewhere. Not in a--" He waves a hand around at all of this, because he doesn't know yet and it's starting to make him want to climb the walls.
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"Better not make me Little John."
His gaze lifts upright, the words mumbled under his breath more than anything just for something to say that isn't outright mean and frustrated and pissed off. But they're all just for show, feelings that are by far easier to deal with than his real ones, the things boiling just beneath the surface. The terror and the upset, the pain that he wants to crawl his way away from just to breathe for one second. And he's faking all of it, trying to layer tolerable emotions on top of intolerable ones just for a seconds reprieve.
But okay, Sam really has been here for a few weeks and that he still can't wrap his mind around, wants to keep asking it over and over until he's really got a grasp on the idea. Because it means a variety of things, but mostly that Dean doesn't understand, and his jaw clenches in annoyance, bolting tight and hard until he can find a way to answer the rest of what Sam's asked of him.
Wait- a sore back? The fuck's that supposed to mean? Dean flashes a look over his shoulder and manages to look somewhat quizzical, before he's turning his attention towards the room that Sam's pointed him to, almost immediately trying to shoulder his way inside.
"Woke up in a room, yeah." Whether or not he was in any pain wasn't something he was going to address, not in the slightest, and he flashes a look around this room instead, trying to take in potential differences, all the things that are worth seeing, thinking on, trying to understand. "Pretty nice accommodations - always figured if we were gonna get kidnapped, we'd end up in someone's basement somewhere. Not in a--" He waves a hand around at all of this, because he doesn't know yet and it's starting to make him want to climb the walls.
"Whatever this is."