Dean swallowed hard. This was impossible. Every jerky movement, the rasp to Don Juan's voice, the tone, cracked something inside him and Dean wasn't sure he could fix it all. Having Don Juan cling to him while Dean tried to get him to sip at the water was a special kind of torture. He wanted Don Juan to feel better, obviously, but he was still silently fuming at the cause that had brought them here.

"You'll be alright," he managed after getting some water down. He disentangled himself from the grip on his clothes and leaned Don Juan back to the bed; his side of the bed, the one Dean never slept on anymore even on the rare occasion that he was sleeping alone. Who knew when that had become an unspoken thing, but now it felt tainted, like this had somehow soured even that little harmless fact of his life.

The contact was confusing for him, so Dean stood, thinking he ought to get a damp towel to help cool Don Juan down or something, anything to do with his restless energy. "You should get some sleep." There wasn't much else to be done but to wait for it to be over and Sage hadn't been able to give him a timeframe without knowing what Don Juan had taken and it had never been this bad, so Dean didn't know what to expect either.