Normally, sitting in bed with you, eating crappy food, and watching awful reality TV would make Dean so happy. And he was happy to be spending time with you. But he couldn't shake the dread and anger that threatened to consume him whole. Hospitals were shitty places anyways, but here you were, lookin' all small in your hospital gown with your arm covered in bandages and your head on his shoulder. Sabotaging Dick Roman hadn't exactly gone to plan. Bobby had snuck his spirit into the building and had done exactly what Dean was worried about. He got angry and accidentally snapped your arm trying to get to the Leviathan. Dean sighs, lifting his head from resting on top of yours to check on you.

"Doin' any better, baby?"

Dean murmurs, his voice gravelly as his worried green eyes look down at you. You nod, using your non-dominant hand to eat cherry twizzlers. He smiles, brushing back a bit of your hair.

"Ain't nothin' that sugar can't fix with you, is there?"

Dean's lips brush against your nose before he pulls back, patting your thigh.

"How's your arm feelin'?"

He murmurs softly, his thumb rubbing circles against your side.