John had surprisingly little to say about Dean's declaration. "An angel is your friend?" he asked. He sounded doubtful, but the stress had been ever so slightly on the word friend—as though that were the unbelievable part. It rankled a little bit but then, Dean supposed, Dad had never seen him (never let him) have a friend before.

"Yeah," Dean grunted, the syllable coming out more defensively than he'd intended. "He's also saved my ass more times than I can count."

"How did this happen?" John asked.

"It's a long story," Dean said. A long story he had no intention of telling any time soon. Dad didn't need to know he'd been to Hell, nor that he'd started the apocalypse nor how many times he'd lost Sam in the process. There would be a time for it, sure, but it was hard enough for him to process the fact of his father's presence. He could only imagine what Dad was thinking and there was no need to add his list of recent failures into the mix. "The angels thought they needed me for something and sent Cas to get me," he said simply. "Started working with him and ended up that way I guess."

"Means a lot to you, then?" John asked, his voice heavy with skepticism. "This…angel?"

Dean nodded, but didn't explain further. Hell, he wasn't sure he understood what his relationship with Cas was, exactly…and there was no way he was going to try to describe it to his father.

"I see," John said, in a tone that clearly said he didn't see, but he didn't press the point. Instead he rubbed a hand across his chin and regarded Dean intently. "And Sam? What happened to Sam?"

Dean nodded again, not quite expecting the change of subject but not terribly surprised by it either. In any case the rapid-fire nature of his dad's questions was so familiar he couldn't help but answer, quick and concise, like Dad had taught him. "He was fine."

"Where'd you leave him?" John asked. "Was he fighting leviathans too?"

"We were both there," Dean said. "But you kill the main guy, the rest die too. Or something. Sammy can take care of himself."

"Was he alone?"

Dean sighed. Of course John would never take Sammy can take care of himself for an answer. Hell, Dean might have actually had a childhood if he had. "Not alone," Dean said, forcing the bitterness out of his voice. He focused on recalling the lab where they'd cornered Dick Roman, and how Sam had burst in with Kevin seconds before Dick's explosion had dragged him and Cas here. "Sam had a kid with him but the place was clear of levis."

"A kid?" John demanded, his eyes widening. "Whose kid?"

"A prophet," Dean clarified. "They're, uh, they're real too." He shrugged. "Read and write the word of God, useful stuff these days. This one's a 17-year-old kid from Michigan."

"A prophet," John repeated, rubbing his forehead.

Dean let out a breath. It really was amazing, he reflected, how much had changed since they'd said goodbye nearly six years ago, more if you counted either of their stints in the pit—and he had a feeling that Dad, at least, did. Hell, the last they'd spent any quality alone time together Sam had still been at Stanford and Dean had been an eager-to-please twenty-five-year-old with absolutely no idea what was in store for any of them.

John glanced at what remained of the fire, a pile of mostly flickering embers with a few flames licking up here and there, and folded his arms. "We have a lot to talk about."

Dean nodded cautiously. Despite all there was that he didn't want to tell his dad, at least not yet, they still had somewhere around a hundred and fifty years of catching up to do between the two of them. They'd have to start somewhere. "...Yeah. Course," Dean said, and hoped John didn't hear the hesitation in his voice.

Of course he did. "Something wrong with that?" he asked, studying Dean in the dimly flickering firelight.

"What?" Dean said, looking around stupidly as though the answer might lie in the shadowy woods around them. When he accidentally met Benny's eyes, the vampire gave him an encouraging nod. He looked back to Dad. "No. Of course not."

"Good," John said. He too scanned the woods, though his expression was set, focused, like Dean had seen on a hundred hunts before. "We should be safe here as long as you put that damn thing out." He nodded toward what was left of the fire. "It makes you a target and it makes you blind. That's how I found you."

Dean just stared for a moment, completely unsure of how to respond. The part of him that was thrilled to have Dad back and, as much as he didn't want to admit it, had missed him over the years like a part of himself, wanted to jump to obey like the good son he'd always taken pride in being. That was how it was supposed to be with Dad, no matter how condescending the orders got. But if there was one thing he was sure of, it was that he was not that naïve, obedient kid anymore. Daddy's blunt little instrument. It had taken the shock of Dad's death and years of the consequences of Dad's actions unraveling for him see that what Dad had done to him and Sam was twisted, that it wasn't right to raise your children as soldiers, that Dad had robbed them of a childhood, a home, and a normal life, then abandoned them and not had the decency to pick up the phone when they'd needed him. When Dean had needed him. And it had taken all those years for Dean to get angry, call John a deadbeat dad and believe it. Once he had, he'd felt free for the first time in his life. The idea of giving that up…he just couldn't do it.

He met John's gaze, shrugged, and said something he'd never had the balls to say before. "Nah."

John's eyes glinted in the dying light. "I wasn't asking," he said.

"I know," Dean said. "But a lot has changed."

John's disbelief was palpable. "What, you became an idiot?" he sneered, and shook his head. "If you didn't notice, boy, this is Purgatory."

Dean glanced at Benny, who was watching the argument with a mildly troubled expression but remaining otherwise impassive. Not that Dean had been expecting—or even hoping for, considering how well it probably would have gone over—much help from that quarter. Benny was his friend, but he had to rightly know that he had no part in this. "I know where we are," Dean gritted, feeling the anger stirring again. It was just like Dad to come back into his life after six years and treat him…well, exactly like he'd always treated him.

Still, if there was one thing he did know, it was that John always answered a challenge with a challenge. If he wanted to get through to him he'd have to take a different approach. Dean took a calming breath. "Look, Dad," he tried softly, keeping his voice low and placating. John's eyebrows rose at the change in tone. "Me and Sammy, we've been doing this without you for years now. We've faced things I don't think you could imagine. I know what I'm doing."

"I'll believe that when I see it," John said harshly. After a second, though, he scrubbed a hand across his face and sighed heavily. "Dean, I'm sorry. I know you've been on your own." He took half a step back and leaned against the tree Dean had been pressing him up against with an axe to his throat not fifteen minutes before. He sounded exhausted. "But you have to understand, I've been here a long time."

Dean offered a small conciliatory smile, not quite satisfied but willing to accept the truce because it was Dad. "Five years, right? That's how long it's been for us since the Devil's Gate."

"Five years," John repeated, and shook his head. "Damn."

They looked at each other. For the first time since John's appearance, Dean felt like he could breathe.

"You do look older," John noted after a moment. "You were like a puppy when I left."

"A puppy?" Dean couldn't help a snort of laughter, and he saw Benny grin across the fire. "Yeah. I guess. You should see Sammy now."

"What is he, ten feet tall?" John asked.

Dean didn't dispute it. "Built like a semi, too."

"You don't say."

"Not so sure about the long hair, though," Dean added, miming hair down to his shoulders with his free hand. "Kinda girly."

John actually laughed.

It was that, and the first real hint of warmth he'd seen in his dad's eyes since their meeting, that made Dean walk over to the fire and wordlessly kick a shower of dirt over embers. Shadows danced around the small clearing, and he was aware that Benny was watching, his expression muted. Well, Dean thought, sending another spray of dirt over the fire, he had no right to judge. There was no way he could possibly understand.

They all got more comfortable once the fire was out. Benny was the first to take his old seat, stretching his legs out before him. Not quite willing to get so relaxed, Dean perched atop the stump he'd used as a backrest before, weapon leaning up against it and within easy reach. His leg ached where his dad had caught him with the spiked club, but it was rare a day went by that something didn't hurt so he ignored it, easily. John had sat down atop the log that had once belonged to Dean's stump and now lay tangent to what was left of the fire. He kept one hand on his weapon but fixed Dean with an easy gaze.

"There are things I want to know," John said once they were all situated. "This way out. What is it?"

"Tell him, Benny," Dean said. It was the vampire's gig, after all, and Benny could explain it better than he could. It probably also wouldn't hurt to force his dad to at least acknowledge the vampire's presence. Benny had been an impressively good sport so far, but in the end he was a vampire and there was no telling how long his sportsmanship would last. Aside from which, Benny was a decent guy and he didn't deserve to be treated as less than human.

"It's a portal," Benny said amiably, his shrug barely visible in the dim light. "Made by God himself to spit out humans like yourselves who got stuck here. So they say, anyhow."

John shook his head. "I been here along time," he said, sounding skeptical. "Never heard of it."

"You talk to many monsters?" Benny asked.

John narrowed his eyes. "No," he said slowly, his voice low. "Do you?"

Dean spoke up before the threat implicit in his dad's tone could take form. "It's okay, Dad. I wouldn't've found out either but Benny came to me with it. Saved my life in the process. He's good people."

Still clearly doubtful, John looked to Benny, who flashed a smile that fell somewhere between cordial and that of an animal baring its teeth. Dean rubbed his forehead. It wasn't that he expected his dad and Benny to become the best of friends. But he didn't relish the thought of being caught in the middle of a pissing match, particularly one brought on by his father's unwillingness to trust anything supernatural, for as long as it took to find Cas. It was already reminding him too much of the headbutting that had always begun John and Sam's arguments—except there was a real possibility here that if things went too far, one of the disputants might actually do some damage.

Miraculously, though, John seemed willing to let it go, at least for the moment. "So Dean," he said. His voice was friendly again and as he went on, Dean supposed his curiosity about his sons after so many years had superseded the desire to put Benny in his place...or whatever the hell he'd been hoping to do. "You said you and Sammy were hunting when you got sucked here," Dad said. "You two been together since Yellow Eyes?"

"More or less," Dean said, then allowed a little smile to show. He realized he'd been sitting stiffly on the stump, tense, and forced his shoulders to relax. "We do make a hell of a team."

"I'll bet," John said, but something in his voice was sad. "I take it Sammy never made it to law school, then, did he. Never got married?"

"Nah," Dean said. Hell, the last time they'd talked about the life he could've had Sam had said he'd rather have Lilith's head on a plate, and that had been years ago. "Never even tried."

"Don't know whether I'm glad to hear that or not," John said, then studied Dean thoughtfully. "What about you? You get anything you wanted?"

Dean froze. As always, when he was drunk or simply stupid enough to let himself think about it, he remembered life with Lisa and Ben, and how despite his grief over Sam he'd had a family free of painful obligations and a place to call home for the first time in his life. But in the end he'd given that up for Sam and duty, and it was hard to think of anything else that even remotely fit the bill. He supposed there was Cas, but then he'd never known he wanted a nerdy angel friend in his life until one had appeared. He took a moment to look hard at John, who—for perhaps the first time in his life again—actually seemed interested in the answer. Still, the very fact it was Dad asking made him want to hold back. "What I wanted?" Dean repeated, maybe a second or two too late, and laughed humorlessly. "What the hell did I ever want?"

"Guess I never thought that much about it," John said softly.

Benny snorted. John shot him a threatening glare, hand tightening around his weapon.

"Right now I just want to find Cas and get the hell out of here," Dean said.

That got Dad's attention well enough. "Tell me more about this angel."

"Cas?" Dean said, and blinked a few times, trying to figure out how to answer. "What do you want to know?"

"How about what the hell kind of creature an angel is first of all," John drawled. "We talking wings? Flying? White robes and hymn singing?"

"None of that," Dean said. It was easier talking about this than it was about what he had—or hadn't—accomplished since Dad's death, but it also brought with it a different kind of ache. He could picture the last he'd seen of the angel's face, deadly serious for the first time since healing Sam, as clearly as if it had been yesterday. We're much more likely to be ripped to shreds. Then nothing. It still hurt to think about losing him again and Dean let out a breath at the memory. "Cas would say he's an infinite celestial wavelength or something, but he just looks like a guy. A nerdy little guy in a trench coat. You'd never know what he was. Wings are more something angels…do."

"A trench coat," John echoed. "You're joking."

"Nah," Dean said fondly, and couldn't help the little smile that pulled at his lips. It really was ridiculous to think about, as familiar as the sight had become. "He looks like a friggin' holy encyclopedia salesman but he loves that thing."

John's reaction was not what he expected.

"I saw a man in a trench coat a couple weeks back," he said. "Would've hunted him but a pack of leviathans got there first and I got out of the way. Doubt he's still there but could be a place to pick up the trail."

"You saw him?" Dean said, barely aware he'd stood up and grabbed his weapon, nerves thrumming. He hadn't been so close to Cas's trail in months. Both John and Benny were staring at him a little like he'd lost his mind. "Come on," he said. "We have to go."

"It's been weeks, Dean," Benny said. It seemed half a plea to remain where they were, at least for the night, and half a friend's reminder not to set his hopes too high.

"I'll take you," John said, rising with him. For a moment they just stood, staring at each other through the darkness with weapons in hand, and Dean felt a thrill of the familiar. Him and Dad, on a hunt again. "Let's go."