You bolt upright in bed for the seventh day in a row of watching Dean die, a cold sweat dotting your forehead. Dean sits on the bed with his back turned to you, bobbing his head to the radio while he brushes his teeth. You cling to him from behind, startling him.

"Jeez, darlin'. S'not even noon yet and you already want me?"

He teases, lifting your arms off of his abs so he can spit out his toothpaste.

"We can have fun tonight, baby. Just be patient."

He calls from the bathroom, finally catching your expression through the mirror.

"Hey…don't be teary."

Dean returns to your side, gently brushing your long hair and checking your temperature.

"Feel okay? Somethin' happen? Bad dream?"

He questions, tugging you onto his lap.

"You feel chilly, darlin'. I'm gonna get you some water from the vending machine outside okay?"

His words cause a shock of panic to your heart.