Nadine's right — Dean's alone. For anyone who knows him well enough (not many do), it's a hefty red flag. Retreating into solitude is terrible for him, and he only does it when things are bad. If there's anybody on the planet that absolutely does not need any help feeling guilty or angry, it's Dean Winchester. So, yeah. They've been bad.

It isn't Jo's fault either, what she's been doing. That effect that radiates off of her is ambient, it's passive, she probably doesn't even realize it's her. Neither of them do. Nevertheless, it's effective at reinforcing the loneliness that's been eating him up in varying amounts since he was four years old. There has always been a hole inside him, and at times vacancy radiates an ache that eats him alive.

He used to try and fill that with sex. One-night stands at bars, more strangers than he can count, names he doesn't remember. At some point, his will and enthusiasm for that died. It felt hollow, waking up the next morning to somebody he knew he was never gonna see again.

But Nadine's not a stranger, is she? And she's not going anywhere any time soon. Maybe that's what makes the real difference.

He opens the door, hair still in damp spikes from his bath, expression grim like he fully intends to shoot down whoever it is that's come calling — except he didn't expect the person actually on the other side.

"Hey," he says, faintly surprised. A second later, he processes the rest of what he's seeing. The lips, the eyes, the dress — that impact is visible on his face, but even if it weren't, it escapes in the form of a taken aback, "Woah."

God damn, somebody's dressed to break some hearts tonight.