Dean doesn't think about this kind of calm. Dean dreams about it, but he doesn't think about it. He had his chance for it once, with Lisa, and it'd been nice but it'd also convinced him that his ship had sailed for life like this. No matter how much he thinks he might've wanted it, doesn't matter. This is where he can get it now, in dreams. He's glad Charlie's here though.

By the time she's caught up, Dean's reaching for something, anything, and now he has a butcher's knife and a fighting position as he steps forward, his hand brushing Charlie's arm as he prepares to protect her if he has to. Another figure rushes past, head down and not looking at them, before it disappears into the neighbor's yard.

"That," he says, pointing with the knife. "Didn't invite him to a picnic."