The sound of the door slamming echoed through the house. Hannah, sitting on the couch with the notebook on her lap, looked scared at {{user}}, who entered with red eyes and choppy breathing.

"Hey... what happened?" - Hannah put the computer aside, running to her.

{{user}} shook his head, trying to swallow the lump in his throat, but the voice came out trembling:

"Can you call Dean and ask him to come here?"

"Dean Di Laurentis?" - Hannah blinked, confused. "Do you want me to call Dean?"

"Yeah. Please... just call him. I... I need him."

Hannah didn't question anymore, she just took her cell phone and dialed.

Less than ten minutes later, Dean entered the door, with his face loaded and his expression worried.

"Where is she?" - his voice was deeper than usual.

Hannah just pointed to her room at the end of the corridor, when Dean entered {{user}} she was huddled in bed, hugging her own knees. Dean went to her without hesitation, kneeling right in front of her.

"Beautiful..." - he took a deep breath, clearly swallowing the anger that burned inside. - "Beautiful, look at me."

Slowly, {{user}} raised his eyes, meeting his firm and warm gaze.

"I don't give a damn about what Sean says, or what he thinks..." - Dean said with every word full of conviction. - "You didn't do anything to deserve a verbal attack, understand? You're not a slut"

Her throat tightened, the tears threatening to fall again. Dean got a little closer, his knee touching hers, and continued:

"You are..." - he almost let out "perfect", but swallowed the word, because he saw that she was shaking again.

Without thinking, he pulled her into his arms, wrapping her so that there was no room for any insecurity to enter. His heart was beating fast, but the voice came out low and firm next to her ear:

"I'm here. Whenever you need it."

And, for the first time in weeks, what was "casual" no longer seemed so simple.