[It's news to him that Dean wants him to do what he wants to do, he thinks but doesn't say. He doesn't say anything for a minute; just looks at him, tense, drawn in on himself just a little bit in that trapped-animal way that tends to bode trouble. This isn't fair, he thinks, too, and it's amazing how much something he was desperate to reclaim a few minutes ago can feel so much like blackmail right now.

But maybe he's lying to himself again to say he didn't know this would happen. He'd known this was a mistake, getting serious like this. How many times had he thought to himself that he should break it off before now? In LA. After the robot flood. After Dean had died. He'd known it would come to something bad in the end.

Then again, he wasn't the only one. He leans forward a bit, combative, voice low and contained.]

I've never made any secret, not even for a moment, of what my plans would be in the event that I was ever allowed to make plans of my own again. And frankly, you're right: it's not your choice, but let's be honest -- it's probably not mine, either. Even if I change my mind, there's still every chance that the Admiral will get in the way of things.

But if that doesn't happen... You've known from the start what I wanted, Dean, and you knew about this, and you did choose.

I'm not saying I don't share some of the responsibility, and I'm not saying you have to figure it out alone, but... why would you choose a dying man?