How long was the real -- or, well, former Death down there? Thousands of years? How the fuck did he ever stay sane during that? Just by the fact that he'd done it before, maybe? Jesus. Jesus.

Dean glances from Tessa back to Cas, and then swallows around a dry mouth, realizing he's not hungry, he's not sleepy, he's just...empty feeling. He doesn't need any of that, and the idea of a burger sounds nice, sure, but he's not hungry, like he'd expected to be once he got out.

His mind works too fast for him to keep up, and Dean stares around them for a long moment, before he's dragged into a hug and yeah, no, this is real. Cas is real. Dean slams both arms around him tight, and presses his face down into the jacket and inhales even if it's not necessary, squeezing him achingly hard.

"Son of a bitch, it was that long?"