He saw the note on the table. The erratic writing. He had noticed the uncertainty in you during the past few weeks.

Who cares when someone’s time runs out? A moment is all we are. Or quicker.

The note in your handwriting worried him. He searched the bunker. “{{user}}?!” he yelled. He opened every door, looking for you.

He came to your bedroom and didn’t bother to knock, he slammed the door open. “{{user}}, you okay?”

He saw you sitting on your bed, your headphones in, probably blaring the usual Linkin Park that you play. He knows you’ve had a rough patch and that the band helped you through a lot. You wouldn’t be here if it weren’t for that band.

He walked over and sat next to you on the bed. “Hey, sweetheart,” he started, “what was that note on the table? Are you okay?”

You turned to him, and one look at you told him you weren’t. Your face was red and puffy, and the song he could hear blaring through your headphones was your favorite Linkin Park song, “One More Light”. He recognized the note on the table to be lyrics from that song. Dean wrapped his arm around your shoulder and pulled you close to his side, his other hand tracing your own. He knew not to talk. He knew that wasn’t what you needed right now. You just needed someone to sit with. Someone to be there for you.

“…I’m here, sweetheart. Don’t worry about anything. I’m here.”

He pressed a soft kiss to the top of your head before resting his chin on the top of your head, his eyes stinging with tears he refused to let fall.

It wasn’t the first time something like this happened. You had a rough past, and your level of depression and anxiety mixed with the life that hunting gave? It didn’t mix well.

You’ve had many episodes like this before. You’d write a note and leave it somewhere for he or Sam to find, or sometimes left it on your desk. There were times you were seen with something harmful near you, such as now, and sometimes not.

“…I’ve got you, sweetheart. And I care if your time runs out.”