The early morning light crept in through the blinds as Dean shoved his arms into his leather jacket, boots heavy against the floor. He thought you were asleep until your hand caught his wrist gently.

Dean froze, glancing down at you with that familiar guarded look. “Go back to sleep,” he muttered, tugging lightly to free his hand. His tone was curt, almost cold, you didn't mean anything to him. You were just something to pass the time.