"Fair." He stated and left it at that, he knew memories could have been duplicated or stolen like Dean suggested but he shoo his head. "What do you know that can steal dead memories." The brightness that was left in his features had faded. Dean had been trained a little too well perhaps. Part of him deep down regretted it. There was nothing he could do about it now, so he just watched Dean cautiously. "You're wearing scrubs. Where were you." He asked again, this time a little more firm then he meant. But Dean would have to understand if he wanted any kind of cooperation.
"The .." He struggled to say the word. Dean was at the morgue? He was in hospital clothes. His mind began to draw up its's own conclusions and none of them were good. His voice had trailed off as he continued to look him over. What had brought Dean to a morgue? Was his son really dead? He knew he was before he had been dragged out of that peaceful place. After he helped Dean kill the yellow eyed demon hell had been but a memory. The torture was over he thought. He wouldn't have to deal with Alastair anymore.
"That goes for both of us." He stated as he attempted to look Dean in the eyes. If something was going on then it was necessary. "I don't have any on me." He admitted with a grim expression. John had run into a few of the dark eyed creatures, but instead of attacking most of them shied away. It had to have been some kind of trick, there were things out there that could cause illusion, but the patterns really didn't look familiar to anything he could pinpoint off the top of his head anyway.
Neither of them were armed, it concerned him. Especially in the current state Lawrence was in. People running on fear, all the looting and broken glass from store fronts. How much longer could they last under whatever was happening? What would they find at the center of it all?