Dean grunts, twitching fitfully to get away from the hand and voice drawing him back to the surface, but something in him understands that he needs to agree. He sighs and nods, the barest lift of his head, and though the ache in his shoulders is nearly as bad as the rest of him, nothing in him is anxious to be freed.

Cracking a sore eye, Dean murmurs, "S'over?"