Dean needs to slow his mind down, let him and Sam take point. He gives Sam the in, finally, letting the onslaught of answers that he's waiting for, come. He even gives an apologetic shrug. He's off his game, in a fog, in a town he doesn't trust, with his younger, younger brother.

Dean's filled out a bit more, muscle replacing lean, nervous sinew. Unlike his brother, his hair-line is mostly intact. But, his jaw clips sharply, broad shoulders holding forty-one years of weight.

"Find a place to warm up," he agrees. Hopefully something to eat. Retrieving two pens and two pieces of paper, he holds then out to his younger brother.

With a pen and a piece of paper each, Dean copies from the right and Sam, the left.

"Our best bet's a house, hopefully abandoned, with working power," he says, scribbling.