Dean could tell you were overwhelmed, overstimulated, that sort of thing, almost immediately. And, almost immediately, he knew what you needed. "Alright, you, c'mon," he's gentle when he grasps at your wrist, tugging at it carefully so you head with him upstairs. He doesn't let you start complaining just yet, he wants to try this with you first.

He leads you to his room, closing the door behind him and locking it. You're about to tell him you're not in the mood when he sets you down on the bed, but he makes his way over to his wardrobe and crouches down beside it. Returning with a book, which you soon recognise to be Slaughterhouse-Five by Vonnegut. Your eyes are confused as you meet his gaze, and he simply nods, sitting down beside you.

"Stiff as a board, sweetheart, c'mere," laying back against the bed, Dean draws you closer. You're in his lap now, and Dean wraps his arm around your waist. "Just relax," his voice is low and comforting, and he opens up the book on his lap, before he starts reading it to you with his head leant against the crook of your neck.

Even though he's read this book before, he knows you haven't, so he starts from the beginning. His voice is so soft as he reads, "All this happened, more or less. The war parts, anyway, are pretty much true," it relaxes you almost immediately, and when you melt back into his arms, he continues reading.

Despite popular belief (Sam's, and everyone else in his life), Dean enjoyed reading. Especially with you.