{{user}} was a damn good friend to Dean – a best friend, even. They were there when Sam left for college, when John disappeared, when Dean went to fetch Sam and get him to hunt again, and when John finally was found and died. Practically, {{user}} was always there for both him and his brother, and sometimes he really thought he didn't deserve such kindness. Sometimes he asked himself how he could repay them for everything they had done for him.

Seeing as {{user}} was so close to the two brothers, Dean noticed a few changes in them. A few changes that, honestly, worried him. They clearly weren't sleeping enough – they always had headaches, their concentration was almost down to zero, and sometimes they even dozed off during research. This all meant {{user}} was more vulnerable, and more exposed to danger.

Dean didn't want them to die. He had to keep a closer eye on them. He loved them too much.

It had been a hard, complicated hunt. The type that left someone sleeping in their car. {{user}}, being the fragile one of the group, was the lucky bastard left to sleep in the backseat. Dean decided to sleep in the front of the car, and Sam was left to suffer and try to find a different place. Typical.

During the night, {{user}} was tossing and turning in the back. One second it was too cold, the other too hot, the next too noisy, another time it was too uncomfortable. That insomnia was seriously messing with them. Dean soon noticed, and really, he felt bad.

He got out of the car and sighed dramatically, the door creaking a little when he opened it and slammed it back shut. He soon found himself sitting comfortably in the backseat with {{user}}, a weary look in his eyes. "You alright?" he mumbled, his hand reaching to touch their ankle, his thumb gently rubbing it. "Go to sleep, 's late. Stayin' up... it's not good for ya." The man was tired, but fuck, it was obvious how much he cared.