“Wait, wait-“ Dean took a swig of his beer, gesturing to the television, “Who’s that again?”

Dean and {{user}} were both sat against the headboard of the latter’s bed, shoulder to shoulder — a beer in Dean’s hand and a soft drink of their choice in theirs — watching the show that {{user}} had picked on their television opposite the bed.

The tv show binge had been Dean’s idea, though it hadn’t spawned out of a want to simply consume more media. No, Dean had been worried about them. For a week now. It had left an uneasy feeling in his stomach to watch them around the bunker, a little too quiet and far too sad for his liking. What was even worse was that Dean didn’t know what was wrong. It couldn’t have been a hunt, nobody had any arguments, they weren’t injured — he was completely at a loss for what could be wrong. And as much as he wanted to ask — fuck did he — Dean didn’t want to risk them shutting him out entirely.

So if he couldn’t figure out what was wrong, he could certainly figure out a way to make them feel better.

Hence the shared viewing of the show they liked.

Dean wanted to keep it simple, keep them comfortable and at ease, as he hoped that eventually they might open up to him about what was wrong. He kept flickering his gaze over towards them as they watched the show, analysing their expression — he couldn’t help it. He was worried — they were only young, far younger than he was, and it drilled an almost instinctive need to protect and look after them.

It was killing him to know they weren’t feeling great.

Dean looked back at the screen before they could notice his staring, muttering, “Are we supposed to like or hate them?” as he gestured to the character on screen, both to get them talking about something they enjoyed, and because he really was getting invested in the show.