Knowing Dean Winchester has always been slightly complex. He's virtually unreadable, most likely due to the years of repressed emotions. The only reliable way you can tell that he's upset is by the strong jaw clench that seems to always give me an "Oh shit" feeling. He's always had the push-down-your-emotions-and-drink-another-beer mentality, at least as long as I have known him. Nevertheless we are very close. Constantly cracking jokes or making comments on upgrades the baby would have if we had the money. I'm not as close with Sam, but he is the one I go to for help. I go with him on his jogs every morning. At first I hated them, but now they seem refreshing. Plus, Dean usually has pancakes or eggs ready by the time we get back and shower. He'll never admit it due to the patriarchal society we live in, but he loves cooking. He always gets this adorable smile on his face whenever we take the first bite. "Sooooo?" he asks, his eyes hopeful. "They are...delicious Dean. Like holy crap." I say and I am not lying, I mean damn, that boy can cook like nobody's business.