You had not slept well. Considering what had just transpired, and the fact that you hadn't slept in over 36 hours, you would have thought you would have slept like a log. But it was the opposite, you tossed and turned all night, pulling the covers up, throwing them off, never finding a comfortable position. 

Giving up, you glanced at your alarm clock, noting that it was already 11 in the morning. Usually you were never in bed this late, but after not arriving home until four in the morning, it didn't surprise you. Sighing, you threw the covers off, grabbing a pair of sweat pants and a long sleeved t-shirt, needing to feel comfortable today. As you pulled off your sleep shirt, you winced as the movement stretched your arm. Glancing down you noticed a bruise, already a deep purple and blue, in the shape of a hand print on your arm.

Groaning, you knew your neck would look much worse. At least that's the worse that had happened. If Dean hadn't of come along when he had, Jake probably would have transported you to who knows where. You wondered how Dean was doing this morning, if he was still alone in his room, trapped in his thoughts, or if he was still asleep.

Deciding to be nice and try to bring him brunch in bed, you left your room, heading straight for the kitchen, the rest of the bunker still quiet. Turning the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks, the sight in front of you freezing you to the spot.

Dean was in front of you, rocking his hips along to the music playing softly on the ancient radio in the corner of the room. He had a small, white apron tied around his waist, accentuating his strong shoulders and back. He was standing in front of the stove, a spatula in one hand, his other holding the handle of a pan.

"Dean?" You asked, not sure if you were hallucinating or not. Dean liked to cook, but you never expected this sight, this morning, after what had happened last night.

"Oh, hey Y/N, how did you sleep?" He asked you, before flipping a pancake, acting like it was a normal morning, one from over a year ago. He hadn't cooked breakfast for you since, well, since he had received the Mark.

Grabbing a cup of coffee, you sipped on it, watching him for a moment before answering. "Like crap."

Pouring batter into the pan, Dean wiped his hands before turning to you. "Did you have another nightmare?" He asked you, his eyes darkening as he took in the bruises on your neck.

Shaking your head, you breathed in the heavenly aroma of the coffee. "No, I just could stay asleep. I think I was still too in shock, and full of adrenaline from what happened last night." You said, watching as his shoulders stiffened a moment before he turned back to the pancakes. He didn't reply to your comment, so you knew he was just putting on a facade, trying to act as if everything was normal.

Hopping onto the counter next to him, you took another sip of coffee. "Thank you Dean." You told him, as he flipped the next pancake over.

Putting the spatula down, he faced you, placing one palm on your knee, and you couldn't control the quiver that ran through your body from his touch. "For what?" He asked.

"For saving me. That was Jake, one of the monsters who frequented that club, one of my main visitors, and the main character in my nightmare. Because of you, that part of my life feels final, and resolved."

"That jerk?" Dean asked, his pancake forgotten. "I mean he had insinuated something, but I just figured...I didn't realize, if I had, he wouldn't have died so quick, I would have brought him back to the dungeon here. Dying was too good for a dick like him." Dean said, almost growling, tightening his hold on your leg until you couldn't take it anymore.

"Dean." You said, but he was so lost in his blood lust that he didn't hear at first. "Dean, he's dead. You killed him, so it's over now."

He let go of your hand then, turning to flip the blackened pancake. "I'm so sorry you had to go through what you did. And that you saw that display last night." He said, the last words coming out so quietly you almost didn't hear them.

Grabbing a slice of bacon from the warming plate, you bit into it before continuing the conversation. "About that Dean, it was the Mark, wasn't it?"

Turning the burner off, Dean handed you a plate loaded with bacon and pancakes, before getting the syrup down from the cabinet. "Yeah, it was the Mark. It feeds off of killing, and I guess all the blood and adrenaline last night brought it out."

You nodded. "But afterwards, it took you a long time to snap out of your haze. It really worried me." You told him before taking a bite of the fluffy pancakes.

He sat down next to you, his plate full. "That happens. It gets me so worked up, so caught in it's craze, that I have a hard time bringing myself down from it."

"Is that why you wanted to be alone last night?" You asked, your battered emotions from being left behind, making the words a little sharper than you meant to.

He noticed, and grabbed your hand, holding it tightly in his own. "I thought it was for the best. I wasn't in my right mind, and I wasn't sure how you felt about the whole thing. I couldn't handle it if you stared at me with pity, or disgust. Not you. So I thought it was better to lock myself away, and shut you out, then take the chance that I might see that." He admitted, and your heart broke.

Squeezing his hand, you answered him. "Dean, I would never look at you with disgust. Well unless you shoved an entire pie in your mouth. But don't you get it? I love you, and that means we work together, even through things like this. I would rather be by your side, helping you, than to be locked out. Because that hurt." You replied.

"Thank you." He said simply, as Sam stumbled through the door, the both of you chuckling at Sam's bed head before silently turning back to your breakfast, the awkwardness of last night now put in the past.