The air was fresh, the sounds of children laughing and an ice cream truck's chiming melody played in the distance. The warm sun lit everything with radiant colors; not a cloud in the sky, scents of cotton candy and hot dogs carried by soft winds.
Dean's legs could barely hold him up.
Crowley had asked him earlier what Amara meant to Dean and Dean couldn't deny it was a good question. On the surface, he hoped that he'd just witnessed the launch of her destruction, yet the thought filled him with an inexplicable sense of fear and grief.
Lost in conflicted thought, Dean checked his phone. Sam had called him several times while he'd been gone. The pit in his stomach got worse when he realized Sam had stopped calling him after an hour. Focused on his phone to call his brother back, pacing nervously, he looked up just in time before walking directly into a disheveled, exhausted angel.
"Sam won't answer," Castiel rasped.
And then he told him.
Sam was in hell. He was in a cage with Lucifer. He was at Lucifer's mercy. He was getting tortured, ripped apart, destroyed right now. Right as Dean stood there. Right as Castiel was speaking to him.
Dean looked around, a ringing in his ears.
The children kept playing and laughing. People were still talking and smiling. The sun continued to illuminate the idyllic sights of a happy, safe world.
Dean was having trouble processing it because everything should be stopping. Nothing should be moving. Time shouldn't be passing.
Anything less was wrong.
Dean had felt the same thing six years ago in Stull Cemetery. The same thing nine years ago in Cold Oak.
Castiel said he already had a plan.
The plan would have to wait until Dean was done throwing up in the public restroom.
