"Try tickling me one more time, and I'll make sure you won't get another kiss for a week," Dean warns, his tone firm as you settle your legs in his lap during the weekend horror movie marathon.

Since Friday, this has been your routine—lying in bed, ordering food, and indulging in movie marathons, with a sprinkle of everything at night. Ever since the whole Michael ordeal, Dean hasn't wanted to leave the room or your side. He's terrified of Michael resurfacing in his body, and he hasn't even broached the topic, not even with Sam.

His fingers absentmindedly trace over your legs as he grabs a third slice of pizza, completely engrossed in the movie and the softness of your legs. "Time to chop and chop," he repeats like a fool, too caught up in the excitement to focus on anything else.

Sometimes, it surprises you how someone so often grumpy can be so clueless.

As the movie continues, Dean doesn't miss a beat, not even when you practically perch on his lap to grab his attention and pepper kisses all over his face. No, he's too fixated on the movie, so you playfully pull away. "Oh, someone's eager to play, huh?" he remarks, diverting his attention from the TV to indulge you, his fingers teasing the bare skin of your lower back. "Come on, you gotta work for it."