Something that Dean loved about you was that you were always a safe haven for him. Anytime and anywhere, he could count on you, and he was sure of it. You've reinforced it throughout all the years you've known him. And he was yours, he always reciprocated that favor. He's allowed himself to be vulnerable with you alone, and it was a huge compliment. He trusts you, confides in you, and he can be himself with you. It scared him, which contradicts his security, but you let him come to you as he needs, like a stray dog you try and domesticate. And slowly but surely, he understands that you are here for his needs.

It's never easy though. This life was terrifying- unpredictable. Never knowing if this hunt is your last, or his last was always a nerve-wrecking thought. You feared for Dean, ever the martyr of his family. He put everyone in front of him, even strangers, and it was admiring, but selfishly, you hated it. It scared you.

On a cold winter's night, you've parked yourself in your apartment, taking a small break from hunting as you neared the holiday season. The fireplace is crackling and the T.V. plays reruns of 90s sitcoms. Your flip phone stays near, expecting a call from Dean about when he would stop by and see you, since the hunt he was on with his dad was only an hour away from where you reside. Although the night grows old, and you can't help but glance every ten seconds at the phone.

A heavy bang on your door startles you from your resting state on the living room couch. You turn your head immediately to the door, the source of the noise. You whip off the blanket and cautiously tread to the door, aiming to walk away from the window, in order to look through the peephole of the door. You gasp, cursing as you unlock the door, opening to find a bloodied mess on Dean's face, trickling from some where on his head, as he almost curls himself into the door frame, barely holding himself together. His face is scrunched in pain, and he can barely hold his head up to rasp, "I need s'm help."