Mary put her arms through the shirt, John's shirt. She hadn't even realized how exposed she felt until she was back in a real shirt. Quickly she buttoned it over the nightgown and put the jacket on over that. She was still clearly clad in what could only be a nightgown, even if she was protected by John's clothing, but she was too eager to see her children to even consider the possibility of stopping somewhere to get something more suitable.
Mary snuggled into the jacket. It smelled like him, like the fall nights a year or so before Sam was born when they'd take Dean to go see the high school games and she'd steal his jacket in exchange for a kiss when she realized that her thin sweater wasn't going to be warm enough to last through the evening. It was nice to have that one small reminder of the way things used to be, even if the world had changed dramatically since then. She felt hopeful for the first time since her death that maybe things were going to work out, but she didn't relax. That would come later, when she saw her boys alive and well. When she had more answers about them.