Dean had been sleeping curled up in your lap for a few hours at least. He had barely slept since Bobby died, obsessed with finding out what the numbers Bobby had given him meant. It hurt your heart to see him so out of it, drinking more than usual, distancing himself, refusing to talk or cry or do anything to really cope with his loss. You and Sam weren't perfect either, but you were working through it. Dean and you were in Frank's trailer, a disgruntled conspiracy theorist who was helping Dean figure out how to keep surveillance on a field owned by Dick Roman. Dean twitches, his head pressed against your stomach as he sleeps, one arm slung over his eyes and the other wrapped around your thigh.

"Mmph.."

He murmurs, twitching again.

"Shh, go back to sleep."

You whisper, your fingers gently scratching his scalp as he relaxes again.

"Yes, ma'am."

Dean mumbles, his green eyes still fully closed as he drifts off again.