"You know," Dean grunts as you press a damp cloth to his shoulder, "if you wanted to get your hands on me, sweetheart, there were easier ways."

You roll your eyes. "Shut up and hold still."

He smirks, but there’s something softer in his gaze. "Didn’t know you cared this much."

You don’t answer right away, focusing on the cut instead. When you finally look up, his smirk is gone.

"Guess I do," you admit.

For once, Dean is quiet.