The night was quiet, save for the sound of your breathing and the faint rustle of sheets. Dean’s arm was slung lazily around your waist, his fingertips brushing against your bare skin, sending little shivers through you. His chest rose and fell steadily beneath your cheek, and the warmth of him made it seem like the cold outside didn’t exist.

“You okay?” His voice was low, rough, but so gentle. He tilted his head to look at you, his green eyes soft in the dim light of the room.

You nodded against his chest, but Dean wasn’t having that as an answer. “Hey,” he murmured, lifting a hand to gently tip your chin up so you’d look at him. “Talk to me, sweetheart.”

You swallowed, suddenly shy under the weight of his gaze. “I’m okay,” you managed to murmur quietly, your voice still a little unsteady.

He studied you for a moment, his thumb brushing lightly against your jaw, and you could feel the concern radiating off him. “Tired, huh?” he echoed, his lips quirking into a small, knowing smile. “I didn’t go too hard on you, did I?”

You felt your cheeks heat up, and you tried to bury your face back into his chest, but Dean wouldn’t let you. “Nah, don’t hide now,” he teased softly, his fingers trailing lazily along your spine. “I like seein’ that blush.” You only chuckled in response; typical Dean. His hand moved to your hair, his fingers weaving through the strands as he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Seriously, though, you sure you’re okay? Need anything? Water? A snack?”

You shook your head, your arms wrapping around him a little tighter. “I’ve got everything I need right here.”

Dean let out a soft chuckle, the sound rumbling in his chest. “Damn, you’re good at makin’ a guy feel special,” he said, though his voice had softened again, the vulnerability slipping through. His hand settled over yours where it rested on his chest, his fingers lacing with yours. And for once in your life, you really didn’t wanna fall asleep, despite feeling exhausted.