( Every couple months around the summoning, Dean preps for a trip to the Barracks. He's done this same routine for nearly two and a half years now, save for one unpleasant stint nobody likes to talk about — a rocky patch, where new arrivals were the last thing on his mind. Outside of that little demonic hiccup, visiting the new greenhorns is a habit reinforced on repeat by the sheer number of times he's found one of his people there. The chance feels like an obligation, and so he goes.

It means he's seen people in all sorts of states, from resigned to fired-up, and everywhere in between. It also means he has enough of a rapport with a few of the guards that they offer him enough leniency to step in every once in a while and handle things when it's clear a military presence ain't exactly deescalating things.

If his people person skills don't earn him a little more of her grace, maybe the rifle strapped to his back will. )

Sorry, sister, but uh- the carry-on luggage doesn't get sucked through the creepy naked portal with you, and guns are harder to come by here than they are back in Kansas. But I'll tell you what we got plenty of on hand right now--

( He fishes around in one of his side satchels, and underhand-tosses her a flask. )

Cheap ass whiskey.