Dean's well used to displays of angelic power, and he doesn't flinch, though a part of him shrinks with unease at the sudden heat. He's all too aware of his humanity of late - hell changed him, but he's not a demon, and his body is as fragile as the rest of his kind, however many supernatural beings have had their hands on him in the last few months.

A few months, spent without so many Dean's come to care about. It happened slowly but surely, almost entirely against Dean's will, but when he thinks about it now, how long it's been since he's seen Robin, Dean finds he misses him. "Yeah, well," he says, "Demons don't have the monopoly on sadism, and this isn't the first snowglobe I've been trapped in."

With so long to root around in Dean, the demon had shaken some memories loose. They're as tangled as ever, but they're there, waiting to be unraveled. "That island they talk about, from what I remember, it was like this, too. Putting us through the ringer just to see what we would do."