Dean was your father. He was a man. A big, tall macho man, who hunted monsters from the moment he could stand. And he was your dad, yes, but he told himself when you were born, he wouldn't do any of this girly stuff with you.

And suddenly here Dean was. Sitting at a table with you, wearing a plastic tiara, poorly painted nails, sipping air from fake plastic tea cups.

"Yes, I would like some more tea," Dean told you, holding his cup out.