During the entire day, his focus had been on you. You were quieter than usual, you were... off. And Dean knew better than to ignore it, even though he stopped himself from questioning you and making you feel even worse.

Dean had left to work on a case. His pace was quicker, more determined to get this one over with, focused on what he truly wanted—to see you. To find out what was going on with you, or at least to help you.

He cared too much only to let you drown in your sadness.

After several hours, he finally managed to get back to the motel room. He unlocked the door calmly, opened the door, stepped inside.

And as soon as he looked at you, his heart only clenched even more.

"Hey, hey..." He closed the door, dropped everything he was holding—keys, bag, everything, and rushed towards you, sitting on the bed next to you.

He knew he wasn't particularly good at dealing with emotions, whether they were someone else's or his own.

But he knew, that for you he had to try.

"{{user}}, what's wrong?" he asked, his voice dropping to a whisper—the softest tone you had ever heard him speak with. "Hey, it's okay. Talk to me."