You were a mirrorball.

Dean knew that.

You were always trying, even if you weren’t the best at what you did. And you were always calm and collected, and you never let yourself break. But when you did, it was in a million pieces. And he hated that you pushed yourself to your limit, sometimes over it.

Cassie and Dean were expert profilers. Michael could read emotions like it was nothing. Lia was a human lie detector. Sloane was freakishly good with statistics. But you…

Technically, you weren’t a part of the Naturals. You weren’t a Natural at anything. But because you had been rescued by Agent Briggs and Agent Sterling when you were nine years old from an abusive household, you spent enough time at the house in Quantico that even if you may as well have been. And you tried hard to solve the cold cases that the group were given. Because all you could think of were the families of the victims, and it made you want to push on. Even if it was hopeless, since you had no FBI skills.

You couldn’t sleep. So you were staring at an unsolved case file about a man who was murdered in his sleep. Cassie or Lia or Sloane or Michael or Dean probably could’ve figured it out by now. But you weren’t a Natural. And you were doing your best.

You sip the coffee that you’d stolen from Sloane and try to make your brain think. How would the UNSUB be able to murder this man without even waking his wife? How was there no evidence?

You didn’t even notice Dean watching you, leaning on the kitchen counter.

“You don’t have to do that, you know,” he says, his voice softer than usual. His dirty blonde hair was hanging over his eyes.

Dean had really grown to care about you. He’d known you the whole time he’d been in the Naturals program. You with your incessant need to take care of people had really helped him feel as okay as he could be.