Half an hour later, Emily's head jerked up from her laptop as Dean walked through the door, face ashen. She immediately ran to see if he was alright. "Shit," she muttered under her breath. "What'd they do?"

"N-no, I –" he cleared his throat. "I'm fine, princess. You, uh…you should get to bed. It's late."

"Dean – ?"

"I'm fine, really," he said, seeming to snap out of something as his gaze focused on her.

"What's they tell you?"

"Nothing. Did you brush your teeth yet?"

Emily gave up, deciding to let Dean baby her as they ran through their nightly routines. Mouthful of toothbrush, Dean had asked her, "Who's Bruce?"

She choked on her mouthwash. Dean gave her a moment to compose herself before she reluctantly answered, "An old friend. From the House. Why?"

"No reason."

"How'd you hear about him?"

"Ethel," was his simple answer. She let it go.

Later that night, Dean was sitting on the bed flipping through channels as she worked on her laptop. As she raised a cup of tea to her lips, he quietly asked her, "Who's Gabriel?"

The mug slipped from her hand, thumping loudly on the rug. "Who?" she attempted to play it off as she grabbed a towel to soak up the tea.

"Gabriel," he repeated hesitantly.

"Don't know him," she suppressed a snarl, violently pushing the fabric into the rug. "Why?"

"Curious," he huffed, obviously unsatisfied with her answer as he turned back to the television.

She lay awake in bed that night, mulling over Dean's questions. How much had the brothers and Ethel told him? "Dean?" she asked quietly, rolling over to face the second bed.

The moonlight shining through the window illuminated a bulky form underneath the covers slowly rising and falling every couple seconds. "Night, bro," she muttered, not wanting to wake him.

The next morning, she awoke to sunlight streaming through the window and a wonderful smell wafting through the room. She groaned, reluctantly blinking her eyes open as she took a deep breath.

"Rise and shine, kiddo!" Dean seamed way too happy for his normal personality in the morning.

"What time is it?" she rasped.

"Seven thirty! You still like sausage, right?" his voice came from the other side of the room.

It took her a moment to process what he was saying. "Y-yeah. Dean, what has gotten into you?"

"What, it's illegal to get you breakfast now?" he joked, something different in his eyes when he looked at her.

"N-no, just…whatever," she sighed, kicking off the sheets to swing her legs over the side of the bed, running her fingers through her long hair.

"Come eat, princess," Dean offered, sitting down at the table by the window across from a Styrofoam container.

She asked curiously as she got up, "Where'd you go?"

"A little place down the street Ethel recommended," he said mater-of-factly as he took a bit of his eggs.

"Been hanging out a lot with her?" she asked innocently. He grunted, shoulders shrugging as he chewed a mouthful of food. "Dean," she began hesitantly, putting down her fork, "what'd they tell you last night?"

"Nothing," his smile faded slightly, mimicking her actions last night. "Let's eat and them we can go to that place under the bridge or something that one of the twins was telling you about last night. Where he thought he saw Lucas?"

"Right," she answered, slightly unnerved by his answer. As she ran over the scenarios for his conversation with Ethel last night again, she yawned, body not being able to keep up with where her mind wanted to go.

Dean suddenly pushed his coffee in front of her. "What–"

"You need it more than I do," he said smiling. She swore she could see that same thing in his eyes that he had after his conversation with Ethel last night.

"You okay, Dean?"

"Wonderful. You?" His question seemed genuine.

She paused, trying to figure out what he knew. "Good." She knew that he was inherently protective over her, but something had changed. It somehow became more than that. There was a longing in his eyes, but he kept his distance. There was also…guilt? He was sad but happy at the same time but trying to hide everything under his layer of "manliness," and it was all so confusing –

"Em."

"What?" she started.

"Calm down. Your ears are practically spitting steam. Let's just focus on the hunt, okay?"

"Yeah…yeah, ok." She tore her eyes away from his and picked up the fork. Focus. I can do that.