John wakes up warm and cocooned.

Jack is wrapped around him like an exotic snake, all arms and legs. He can feel Jack's body firm against his back and he bites his lip as he wriggles from the tight grasp and sits on the edge of the bed.

Jack is fast asleep; his long hair hangs around his shoulders and falls into his closed eyes. His lashes are long, fanned out against his pale cheeks. Clean shaven it is obvious he is still a young man, dimples in his cheek, a cleft in his chin. John feels something clench in his stomach. This man means something to him, this man is important to him and he just wants to know why…

Jimmy needs a beer.

Bobby hands him one and watches him drink it. He looks pale and disbelieving but he hasn't run away screaming so Bobby figures it as a win.

"So," he looks out of the motel's grimy window. Detroit is just as he remembers it only brighter, cleaner, "how do you feel now?"

Jimmy stares at the man in the baseball cap and shrugs. How is he supposed to feel? He was possessed by an angel, he lost his family, he was shot, he did things that he cannot even recall and – in the end – he helped save the world, he fought alongside Michael as he brought down the morning star and the men he could remember did their part.

"Are they dead?" He asks finally, not really answering Bobby's question, too full of questions of his own.

"I don't know," Bobby looks sad, tears in his eyes, "last I saw Sam had a sword in his chest and Dean was wielding it. The light was too bright, the explosion drove us out of there – when I got back inside – all three of you were gone – and I was alone," he wiped at his face, embarrassed, "didn't expect to see you again – so maybe – just maybe – there is hope for them too."

Jack follows him like a puppy; a big, tall gangly puppy but a puppy all the same.

At meal times he has started to feed himself and he can dress himself now too. There is brightness in his eyes, the corners of his mouth tugging into a smile, dimples deepening. Jack looks better, happier, healthier and it makes John feel warm in a way that is quite disturbing.

Sometimes – at night – when Jack crawls into his bed and cuddles him, he wonders if they were lover's maybe, if they were partners and something went bad. He gets confused when Jack touches him but he isn't sure if that is just his body's natural reaction to having another warm body next to him. Then he will turn over, see Jacks sleeping face, touch his soft hair and his feelings will be more paternal or brotherly and he lays awake for hours trying to figure out just who they are and why they ended up in a godforsaken warehouse in fucking Detroit…

The smell of the place made Bobby feel sick. This was the tenth establishment in as many days and not one person recognised the photos of Sam and Dean that he showed around. Now he was on the last few places before he got down to the morgues and he wanted to weep, only Jimmy's stoic determination – so like Castiel's – keeping him going.

The nurse held the photograph in her hand and stared at it for a long, long time. She held it to the light and cocked her head to one side and then she showed it to her companion. Bobby sat in his wheelchair and stared at them, irritation beginning to make him edgy, a twitch behind his eye getting worse.

"Yes," the companion spoke first, "that – that is definitely John – and – and the other guy – he – that is Jack."

"They are here?" Bobby felt his head spin and Jimmy's hand clamped down on his shoulder, grounding him, "here in this place?"

"Yes," she stared at him, "are they…I mean do you know them?"

"I'm their uncle – they are my nephews Sam and Dean Singer," Bobby pulled the cards from his pocket, handing them over to the nurse, "can I see them?"

The nurse studied the cards for a long time and then she smiled.

"Of course – but Mr Singer – you must prepare yourself for the worst – they – they are not as you remember them."

"No," Bobby guessed when you had been an angel's meat suit that there wasn't much left of your mind. Castiel had left Jimmy confused enough and he was just a normal, everyday angel – they were talking about Lucifer and Michael – and Lucifer had been in Sam for weeks – weeks.

"No," he said again, "I guess they aren't…"

Jimmy pushed Bobby into the small visiting area. People of all shapes and sizes were milling about and it was clear that they were all – different. Jimmy had never been in an establishment like this one before and he wondered how a person might survive like this, locked away, kept from the world just because they weren't quite right.

The tall man he remembered was sitting in the corner at a table, long legs stretched out, gazing through the window, eyes wide. The broader man sat opposite him, eyes on the other's face, his expression one of pure love and devotion, the emotion so strong it made Jimmy want to weep.

"You idjits," Bobby's voice cracked on the words as he stared at the men, "you stupid noble idjits."

"What can we do?" Jimmy touched his shoulder gently.

"We can save them," Bobby said, finally, "because they saved us and without them – we wouldn't be here – we wouldn't even be here."

Jimmy swallowed down the blockage in his throat and stared at the two men, trying to remember them, trying to recall what they had done. Bobby made a choked off noise and bent forward suddenly, head in his hands.

"Idjits," he said again and this time he couldn't hold back his tears, "your dad would be so proud of you – so fucking proud…"

And then Bobby Singer – hardened hunter and survivor of so many wars – sat in his wheelchair and wept….