Dean and you stood up late at night, just chatting as you both shared a crappy motel room. You decided to ask what he would have done if he wasn't a hunter and lived a normal life. "No clue," he muttered, his gaze downcast at the floor. He shifted his leg, and your feet bumped his. He didn't mind, just shifted a bit closer. "You?"

He was curious and looked at you. Dean didn't like talking deep or personal. But you had a way of bringing it out of him.