It had become a routine that Dean had learned to have patience with.

While you were going through a rather rough episode of depression, Dean would come in occasionally to check on you. He wouldn’t say much, if anything at all, and he’d just hand you a beer. All in the name of wanting to help.

And it was sweet in a way. He wasn’t forcing you to talk if you didn’t want to. But he’d be damned if he left you alone.