Despite knowing his son is back, in one piece, alive and well, John's still got a tight ball of something choking his chest; it's severe mood whiplash, to be so coldly furiously angry and to not even be able to quite reach the grief he needed only to find out that he no longer has anything to be angry at or grieve for. He's stuck in a limbo of sorts, with nothing to take the emotion out on anymore, no reason to cry or yell.

And when John drops by Dean's motel room, his hand hovers above the handle. He can only envision what he found the last time he made an unexpected visit to his son; it's almost hard to comprehend that won't be the case this time, and John nearly turns on heel and walks away, unready to cope with it again if it's all some trick of the mind and Dean's still dead.

Castiel knows it's a dream, but it's unlike any he's had before. It's corporeal; Castiel can feel wind on his skin, hear the creaking of a pier under his feet and the slap of water against the shoreline. He realises this the kind of dream he's more used to entering than having himself, and everything feels real, down to the way his back aches with every breath. As in life, where he is bound across his chest to cover the wounds from his wings being wrested from him, so it is here, and over it Castiel is wearing what he fell asleep in - a grey cotton shirt and sweatpants, no shoes.

He's been here before, though. Castiel blinks. This was a place he came to when he needed to tell Dean a secret, when he needed to tell him the truth about Heaven... Castiel walks the length of the pier to the end, his mouth a tight line, and he looks into his reflection in the water. It's a dusky afternoon, as it was there, and Castiel feels how cold it is. He's underdressed. He never used to notice that.

His heart's heavy and his back burns, and Castiel wonders just what kind of cruelty this is, to be placed in a dream this way. A place he'd found Dean, now without him. Castiel struggles not to hear that bang, the terrible thud to the ground over and over, but - he can't help himself. Dean's dead, and that's his fault. It wasn't even Castiel's life at gunpoint, but Dean did it, and that leaves Castiel beyond numb. Why should he be allowed to live now?

John's still not managed a lick of sleep by the time he shows up at Dean's motel room. He's juiced up on coffee, but he knows the lines in his face are heavy and his eyes are ringed with dark circles, and he doesn't look convincingly well. Still, if Dean asks he'll blame that on being fresh from Hell; pulled out and shoved back together by a demon's gotta be a whole lot less pleasant than when an angel does it.

He knocks on the motel door only once before he tests the handle and finds it unlocked; he steps on in, shutting it behind him and coming to standstill. There he is; the son John went to Hell for. And let down even when I was dead, he thinks, taking in a sharp breath. He's been gone a long time. Dean's not got any of the last traces of being a boy on him, he's a man full grown, and John is taken aback by it.

Mary's finding it hard to keep her eyes off her eldest son, in truth. It's making navigating streets and, when they get there, the cafe they'll eat at something of a struggle - but after so long, Mary can only marvel at how beautiful Dean's grown. And I missed it. All of it.

"You look so different to when you were a little boy," Mary has to tell him, once they've taken a seat. She can't really take it all in. She chews her lower lip, taking in the length of his straight nose, the freckles and the smile - he looks like her. She'd been so sure that he'd grow up looking more like his father. At the thought of John, she looks down and turns the wedding ring on her left hand. She knows - she thinks - he's dead, but she can't think of him like that.

For Mary, 'it feels like yesterday' isn't an expression. Although she's aware of the passage of time, if she closes her eyes Dean is four and she's more-or-less happily married, her baby Sam is sweet and innocent and Mary has done her best to forget that she ever made a pact for her husband's life. She can't bring herself to take off the ring.

Eyes flickering back up to Dean, Mary purses her lips. She can only imagine everything her boy has been through. She can't fathom that it's good; she woke here with nothing but the knowledge that she was put back and that her sons were here. To her, that says they need her. 

They've always needed me. I just haven't been here.

She just had enough time to sort herself out before heading to the park. Crowley warned her about being careful at night. But right now she didn't care. She just needed to get out into the fresh air.

She was still wearing her dress but had wrapped a coat around herself, finding the bench she was at the other night. He hadn't arrived yet. She sat down, taking the time to calm herself down from the meeting she had just had.

This was stupid and dangerous and was likely to get her into even more trouble. But she knew. If anyone was going to do this, it would be him. But he needed the help, just like she said. Hey, he may already know. But she could give it a try...

She wondered whether she should tell Crowley. They were both fighting the same enemy, weren't they? Surely they could work together? No, Dean's pigheadedness and Crowley's pride probably wouldn't allow that.

Despite how desperate she had been to get back to it, Amy was tired of being stuck in the TARDIS. She wanted some fresh air...

The book had thrown her off. She couldn't understand it, but then, Amy couldn't understand a lot of things she had seen. No, the discouraging thing was that the Doctor didn't seem to understand it either. That was never good.

She quickly figured out where she was. Michigan. America. The Doctor seemed to be spending lots of time here. That was strange too. Things here were so much different to her world, and yet it seemed so similar...

She needed a distraction from her thoughts. Something simple, something she could figure out. It was while she was in a local diner she heard rumours of a local house, a tourist hot spot. Supposed to be haunted. Amy raised an eyebrow. Ghosts. No such thing. Saying that, she didn't think angels and demons existed but apparently they did...

Amy passed the house though and paused to take a look through the gate. It was an old building, abandoned for a long time, but would have been beautiful in it's day. But she wasn't stupid. More than likely it was just a rumour, but if it was something else, what could she do?

Amy looked down and frowned. The lock was broken. Sawn through. Someone had been in recently. 

A movement at the window. Amy's head shot up but it was gone.

She paused, only for a moment, before she pushed the gate upon and made her way up the drive. 

Curiosity killed the cat. Not the Scottish red head...

Castiel doesn't understand why he lets Dean lead him about like this, particularly when Dean's ideas are so bad that Castiel knows the probability of them succeeding is second to none. Still, they've beaten the odds before, he supposes, and being dragged to a strip club is far less dangerous than say, throwing the Devil in a large hole.

He's still very certain that this is a terrible idea, even once they've gone inside and Castiel has an awful face full of scantily clad women who are frankly terrifying. "Dean," Castiel says firmly, sticking on the side of too close to his friend as always, "Do we have to?"