Dean had been mid-sip, so he choked it back into the glass when he heard a voice, a very familiar voice, behind him. Spinning around on his seat, and standing a second later, clearing his throat so it could function. He stared. He knew who it was, without a doubt, but meeting Amara and the hold she'd had on him...
It took him a solid minute to say anything, and then his voice was still as rough as his cheek. "Isabel." Because in his reality, in his life, it hadn't been a couple of months, it had been years. Seven years. And some months.
Dean couldn't shake everything, not completely. A hand came up to scrub at his face. Whiskers whispering against his hands. "I'm sorry. This shouldn't be weird, I thought it wouldn't be. But it still kinda is." Because he was sure if things weren't weird, that he would have closed the gap in just a few long strides and scooped her up in a bone-crushing hug.