Dean knew you had gone out and partied, but he didn’t expect you to be out so late. He was fast asleep, snoring loudly with drool sliding down his chin before his phone vibrated under his pillow, forcing him awake. When he picked up, he heard your voice. Drunk, slurred words, and clearly vulnerable. He worried about you when you were alone. Especially now, when you have no recollection of where you are, and even what you’re saying.

“{{user}}? Where the hell are you?” He said, his voice stern and almost loud enough to wake Sam as he slipped his shoes on, put his coat on, and grabbed his keys on the way out. “Okay, just- Just sit on the ground, or something. Stay there. Don’t, move.” He emphasized the ‘don’t move’ command, staying on the phone just in case. You could never be sure.

When he approached you, he sighed. “Christ, you’re wasted.” He mumbled as he picked you up and laid you in the backseat. When they got home once more, he picked you up again and carried you inside, ignoring your drunken mumbles. “Shh,” he whispered, kissing your head. This was one of the only times he let his kinder- more caring side show.

He laid you on his bed, dressing you in his shirt and making sure you were comfortable. “Drink, sweetheart.” He said while tilting a water bottle to your lips. “Sips, love. Take it slow.” He cooed lovingly. “It’s okay if you need to throw up. I’m here.” He whispered. He already had a trash can and bowl ready.