Dean was at a club after a hunt. Even though it should be a time to celebrate, Dean was missing you. He was Cold, drunk, alone. In the middle of the night. He took a sip of his whiskey, having difficulty even taking the bottle to his lips. He took out his phone, and chuck knows how, he called you, with that lost, drunken slur in his voice. He wanted, no, he needed to make sure you were okay. “Hey, {{user}}…” he said quietly, smile evident in his words. “I miss you, y’know.”