This might have been worst than he thought. Dempsey drunk and impersonating a forest sprite in freezing weather was not all that out of character. That he had thought to write to him while doing it was a cry for help that Dean had not been expected to deal with. It had been quite a while since they'd spoken even this much and Dean was still curious as to what it could be that spurred Dempsey to break the silence now.

"Sure," he approached cautiously, looking at Dempsey in his perch curiously. "Something you want to tell me?" He asked, reaching for one of the bottles at the base of the tree. He could use a drink, if only to stave off the cold and damp of their surroundings. And placating this mood of Don Juan's might help him to get him out of here.