"Bela." Dean's voice was soft and familiar even through her exhausted haze. Sleepily she blinked up at him. "Hmm?" "We're back at the bunker." He told her. "Mmhmm." She rolledover, failing to notice that he'd stripped her down to the tank top she'd had underneath her clothes and her underwear. She felt him climb into the bed beside her, the gentle dip offset by his hand placed gently in the small of her back. The other arm snaked around to hold her closer, and instinctively she burrowed closer to him.
"Are you okay?" "I don't…I don't know…" she managed. "Will you be okay?" "Maybe…" Then, now that she was more than half awake, everything came flooding back at once, with amazing clarity. A low whimpre came from her throat as she started to cry. Dean looked down at her. "I..I killed my dad, and you tell me it's okay? What…" He shushed her, big hand enveloping her cheek, thumb gently caressing her quivering lower lip.
"It will be. Trust me. You trust me, right?" Blinking away lingering tears, she continued to stare at him. "I…Yes, but…" "Then it's fine. I'm not going anywhere." His sentence seemed cryptic until she thought about it.
He felt terrible. But nowhere as near as bad as she was, he knew. All he could think as he carried her upstairs, laid her down on her bed, and undressed her slowly, was how much she'd sacrificed to save him. She hadn't just been shooting wildly; she wouldn't have, Dean being that close. She'd lined the Colt up and taken her shot.