"What was your dad like?" Castiel asks, just to hear him talk about something, anything, so Castiel doesn't have to. He doesn't want to talk, he doesn't want to think; he just wants to sit here in silence.

Dean lets out a low whistle. "If you're looking for something to cheer yourself up, you might want to ask a different question."

Castiel shakes his head. "I don't care. I just — talk. Please. I don't care if it's happy."

Dean sighs. "Alright, uh..." He chuckles awkwardly, almost sounding nervous. "Well, he was a dad. He acted like a dad. Um..." He pauses, trying to find something to say. "Well, he was a cop — but you already knew that, I think. So that lasted for, like, eight years; from when my mom died 'til when he did. Um..." He sighs. "I don't know. He was a good man, and an even better father. You would've liked — well, no, probably not, actually."

"Why?" Castiel asks quietly, just to keep him talking. He can't bring himself to care that Dean sounds sort of uncomfortable talking about this — he doesn't really notice, actually.

"Well, he just..." Dean shrugs. "I don't think you ever had a parent like him. From what I've seen, Chuck seemed really relaxed and just kind of let you do what you wanted, and my dad just... didn't. He was a lot more strict.

"Actually, I remember, once..." Dean chuckles, doubtlessly remembering some fond memories. "It was getting to be my birthday, and I didn't really care because we hadn't really celebrated anything since my mom died, but I guess Sammy had been talking to his friends too much, because he was hell bent on throwing me a birthday party. He made the mistake of asking my dad when he was in the middle something, and he didn't even finish his question when my dad told him to go away."

"That's so sad," Castiel says, feeling a pang of pity for the kid, even though Sam himself has probably forgotten this by now.

"No, actually, that's where things get interesting," Dean says. "'Cause Sammy, he was the most stubborn seven-year-old I have ever met, and if he wanted to throw me a birthday party, he was going to throw me a birthday party, no matter how many times I had to tell him not to or how mad my dad was going to be if he found out.

"So, we leave town, which is big feat for a seven-year-old and an almost-twelve-year-old who knows how to drive but couldn't legally leave our property. But we did it, god knows how, and we somehow make our way to a club, and it was nuts. I mean, people are drinking, and they're smoking, and they're snorting whatever. I'be never seen anything like it, and god knows Sam hadn't, either. And this girl walks up to me and she's like, 'Hey, why don't you come over, sit down with me and my friends at this table.' And I was a dumbass twelve-year-old, so I was like 'Hell yeah!'

"And then, a few minutes later, the room goes dead silent. And I'm talking a room the size of this whole stadium, filled wall to wall with drunk ass kids, and you could hear a pin drop, it was that quiet. And I'm like dude, what the fuck, you know? That's not what I signed up for. And my first thought was that I have to find my brother. I don't know what's going on, I don't know if there's some police raid or whatever, and I needed to find Sammy.

"And then I see him. He's just walking towards me, real slow, and I just knew that shit was about to go down. And then I look, and right behind him is my dad. Now I'm freaking out 'cause what the hell is my dad doing there, and everyone else is freaking out too — no one can even look him in the eye, and he's just standing there, not saying anything, and I knew shit was about to hit the fan, you know?

"And he drags me out of there — physically drags me out — and Sam's walking behind us with his head down 'cause he knows just as well as I do that this is going to be bad, and my dad just throws me in the car and doesn't say anything, and as we're driving away, I realize just how drunk I am, and honestly, I don't even know if it was just alcohol or if someone drugged my drink, but either way, I'm pissed, and the more I think about it, the more pissed I get, and I start yelling at him because 'embarrassed me' and I told him I hated him.

"And he pulled the car over, and he just looked at me and he says, 'Son, you don't like me? That's fine. It's not my job to be liked. It's my job to raise you right.' And he did.

"So, you asked what my dad was like? That right there. I don't think anything could explain John Winchester better than that moment. He wasn't winning any number-one-dad awards, but damn if he wasn't there when we needed him."

Castiel looks up at his fiancé, who's just looking out ahead of him, as if forgetting Castiel is there. He seems to snap back into reality, and looks over at the boy with a small smile.

"Your dad sounds... interesting," Castiel says.

"In a good way or a bad way?" Dean asks.

Castiel shrugs. "I don't know. Just interesting."

Dean lets out a long breath, stretching his legs out in front of him comfortably. "Yeah, I felt the same way about him sometimes, but he really was the best."

"Did you and Sam get in trouble?" Castiel asks.

"Sam, no. Me?" He chuckles drily. "Well, it was not a fun couple days."

"A couple days?" Castiel repeats. "I feel like any other parents would have grounded you for at least a month."

"Oh, no, I meant —" Dean cuts himself off and shakes his head. "Never mind. Yeah, I'm sure most parents would have, but my dad's never been like most." Before Castiel can ask about that, Dean changes the subject. "Let's talk about something fun, okay? Like, how about our wedding? We haven't talked about that at all."

Castiel just nods.

"When do you want us to get married?" Dean asks. "Do you want to do it in a specific day? Or see how it works out and pick from there? What do you think?"

Castiel shrugs.

"You're making this discussion much less dicsussy that I had hoped," Dean tells him.

"I don't want to talk," Castiel says quietly. "I just want to listen."

Dean nods slowly. "Okay, I'll monologue for you. You said June is Pride Month, right? So, I was thinking, what if we got married on June first? 'Cause then we'll have our anniversary day, but it can last all month because we can claim Pride Month for ourselves and bam, thirty times the cake. Great marketing strategy, right?

"And we can have this huge wedding. I'm talking your family and my family can come and our mutual family members who aren't really related to either of us can come, like Charlie and squad, and then all your celebrity friends, and it'll be a real big party. And we could let Lucifer pick and decorate the venue, and get married in front of a wall of rainbow duct tape, and there could be rainbow flags hanging from every wall. And the cake could be huge — I'm talking twelve layers of huge — and maybe each layer is a different color frosting and bam, we've got a rainbow pride cake.

"We could get married in front of the rainbow pride house next to the Westborough Baptist Church just to piss some assholes off. We could have our first dance to a Kansas song, just for old time's sake. And..." He pauses, doubtlessly trying to think of more happy ideas, even ones that would never happen. "Maybe we could have live entertainment from someone cool like Steven Tyler, or maybe like Jack Kline 'cause we both know he wouldn't object to that.

"Ooh, and what about Alex? She'll be over one year old next June. She'll probably be walking, and she could be the flower girl or whatever the little kids usually get to be in weddings. We might have to hide her for a while, though. She might steal the show, and everyone's going to forget why they're actually there."

He stops talking when he notices Castiel yawn, then asks, "When was the last time you slept?"

Castiel just shrugs.

"Maybe we should get going," Dean says, concern lacing his voice. "How about we go back to Massachusetts, and you can sleep over with me?"

Castiel shakes his head.

"New York?" Dean tries again. "We could get your stuff from there, and then go to my place?" When Castiel shakes his head again, he adds, "or we could stay in New York, if you'd be more comfortable at your own house." When Castiel shakes his head yet again, Dean sighs. "Alright, what do you want to do?"

Castiel just shrugs.

There's a loud crash from somewhere in the venue. It's not uncommon — people drop heavy object or knock things over all the time on tour — but Castiel flinches, covering his ears with his hands. Dean gently takes one of his hands away, but he doesn't drop it, just holding it reassuringly.

"Are you sure?" Dean asks softly. "Maybe we should go back to my place, where it's calm and quiet and it's just us. Does that sound good?"

Castiel hesitates, then nods.

"Awesome. Come on." Dean stands up and helps his fiancé to his feet. They don't drop each other's hands as they walk, and Castiel is grateful for it.

The rest of the stadium is mostly empty. A few backstage crew members are packing things up — probably where the crash came from — but otherwise, it's calm, until suddenly, a young girl runs up to him. It takes him a moment to realize that it's the girl he brought on stage earlier, after... the incident. Maddie, right? Something like that?

"Where's my mom?" she asks breathlessly, as if she's been running for a while. "It's been hours and no one's been able to tell me where she is or if she's in the hospital or if she's even still alive and she's not picking up her phone cuz I tried calling on someone else's and I'm really worried and you have to help me!"

"I'm sorry, I don't — I don't know," Castiel says quietly, not entirely sure what part of what she just said is what he doesn't know because right now, he feels like he doesn't know anything."

"But —"

"Look, kid, we're not the ones you should be asking," Dean tells her, keeping more patience in his voice than he usually does when dealing with people he doesn't know. "We're just as clueless as you are. Your best bet is to find someone who's sticking around for a while, borrow their phone, and call the nearby hospitals to see if they'll tell you if she's there — or, if you've got other family nearby, have them pick you up, and they'll know what to do. Can you do that?"

She nods. "Okay, thank you."

As they're walking out of the stadium, Castiel says quietly, "Her mom's dead."

"You don't know that," Dean says quickly. "She might have just gotten lost. Maybe she went out a different way. I'm sure she's fine. Okay? She's perfectly fine. Everyone's fine."

"She's just a kid," Castiel continues as if he never spoke. "She's just a kid, and her mom might be dead, or she might be in the hospital and missing an arm or a leg or both, or she —"

"Cas, don't talk like that," Dean interrupts. "She's fine. Everyone's fine."

"But they're not." Castiel holds up his bloodstained hand, his entire arm shaking. "They're not fine. People got hurt and —"

"Or maybe we should spend the night in a hotel," Dean interrupts, changing the subject. "How about that? Does that sound okay?"

"How many people died?" Castiel asks. "Do they know yet? Do they have an estimate?"

Dean sighs and stops the boy right there in the parking lot, putting his hands on the boy's shoulders. "That's not your problem," Dean says. "You're okay. That's what you need to focus on, okay? Forget about everything else."

"I can't," Castiel whispers. "You weren't there. You didn't see the —" He cuts himself off. "I was right there. I saw everything. You don't know what that was like, and I pray to whatever uncaring god may be out there that you never do." He looks down at his hand, holding it between them. "There were good people out there, Dean, and now they're dead or they're hurt and scared and —"

"But you're not," Dean interrupts. "You can worry about everyone else later, but right now, the only thing that matters is that you're okay. I'm know you're still a little rattled right now. I am, too, so I can't imagine how you feel. But panicking isn't going to help anyone. Let's just go home, and then we can talk. Okay?"

Castiel nods. "Yeah. Home." But he hops around houses and hotels so often, he's not even sure he knows where his home is anymore. Really, the only "home" he has is right here with Dean.