It's an odd mix that goes marching through Dean's thoughts then. April Fool's was four days ago, they've been getting better about condoms, it's Sam's birthday in a month, he can't feel his face.

Dean reaches, touching numb cheeks with fingers that feel equally cold, the scrape of callouses against stubble strangely thunderous to his ears. "Um," he says again, and for the longest moment he's lost the thread, can't remember why his heart is trying to run away from him, and then it crashes all in again at once.

She's looking at him, she's looking at him, she said -

"With a baby?"