it’d been a terrible day for you, a panic attack rising in the middle of the day. when it wouldn’t go away on its own, you tried calling dean, his phone going to voicemail each time. every hour that passed without reply just heightened the anxiety and ache growing in your chest.

it was now around midnight, and you’d managed to calm down enough to fall asleep, phone still clutched in your hands as you passed out.

it wasn’t until dean was on his way back to you, that he took the time to check his phone— heart dropping as he saw the missed messages and calls. he rung you a few times as he hurried back, only reaching your voicemail.

the guilt he felt when he reached his room, seeing you sprawled out on his bed, phone in hand, was gnawing. he sighed as he shrugged his jacket off, discarding his boots, and tossing his phone away before getting into bed beside you, hand reaching out and moving hair from your face.