The ministry was still in its werewolf tizzy, especially after the ball  and Dean was just trying to stay afloat. He didn't have too much to do with any of it, translating a few foreign documents on the matter here and there, but otherwise, he was business as usual. Still the tension lingering in the ministry halls was enough to send him scurrying home after a long work week.

As he stepped out of the floo, he stretched his shoulders already starting in on the buttons of his ministry robes when he jumped at the sight of a body on the chaise. It took him an embarrassingly long second to realize it was Hanna, mostly because she was curled up in a ball. He hadn't expected to see her until later, not that it mattered, tonight was her night, but he usually needed a few minutes to shake off the ministry dust and unwind so he wasn't a total grump.

At first he thought she might be sleeping, but it didn't look particularly comfortable so he ought to move her upstairs (where she could have settled herself anyway, he didn't mind), but upon closer inspection, she appeared to be shaking. "Hanna?" Worry creased his brow as he took a better look at her. Gently he leaned down and laid a hand on her leg, which was when he realized just how bad the shaking was. "Han, what's wrong?" He tried to keep his tone even, unpanicked, even as he felt the anxiety rise in his chest. Dean scooped her up quickly, seating himself on the chaise instead, settling her in his lap to wrap his arms tightly around her.

Thoroughly alarmed, he tightened his grip as she pressed into him. He couldn't quite make out what she whispered against his chest, something incoherent and not at all an explanation of any kind. This wasn't good.

Dean took a deep breath and tried to think through whatever it might be. She didn't appear hurt, sick? Had something happened? He couldn't see any injuries, but that didn't mean something hadn't happened to her. He had to purposefully push any possible scenarios from his head. Maybe he needed to focus on something else, if she was too worked up to tell him. Listing through the possibilities seemed a waste of time.

Gently, he tipped her head up toward his, the touch at her chin barely more than a suggestion because he didn't want to scare her. His eyes searched hers, trying to find something in her expression, but nothing was clear. "What do you need?" Fuck, he hated not having answers or knowing what to do. He hated feeling helpless.

The puzzle? Dean knew she enjoyed them, but how was that supposed to help? He still didn't even know what was truly wrong, so he supposed he couldn't question the remedy either, if that's what she said she needed. It seemed benign enough, even if he thought it strange. Hopefully it would indeed do the trick.

Using his foot, Dean hooked his toe around the bottom of the puzzle table (that he was now immensely glad he'd purchased), and pulled it carefully toward the end of the chaise, taking care not to move it too quickly or to jostle it too much. The partially-finished landscape puzzle on the top was of a seaside scene, but it looked like she had only gotten one corner done so far. He angled the top upward so it was easier to see and pulled out the drawer with the rest of the pieces with one hand, setting it up right in front of them.

Gently he pushed himself back on the chaise a little more, making sure not to upset the puzzle table itself and settled her more directly facing the puzzle. He sat right behind her, holding her up, still unsure of how this was going to help, but willing to try. "Alright, let's puzzle." He said, and reached out to pull some pieces from the drawer to figure out.

She seemed to be coming back to herself a little more, so Dean forced himself to relax more in hopes to ease her anxiety. He pulled his hands back, letting her work, but listening as she explained her process. Perhaps it was just having something else to focus on that helped? Dean was still obviously perplexed by the whole thing, but he wasn't about to press the issue if she was feeling more herself.

Gently he rested his hands at her waist, more to anchor himself than anything else while she worked through a few pieces. He was keenly aware of each movement she made, the fading of the shakes and her breathing. Unsure of what to say, still dying to know what caused the attack in the first place, he continued to wait her out and hope the puzzle helped her relax further.

Dean watched her work, doing his best to try and relax, but still painfully aware of her movements. She seemed to be settling down, but his skin was buzzing with anticipation now and he knew he had to approach this slowly. It wasn't entirely unlike some of Don Juan's worst nights, which were also burned into his memory, though he hoped whatever caused it wasn't nearly as bad.

He waited her out for a few more minutes, letting her work through several more pieces of the puzzle before he dared to ask. He steeled himself, whispering it softly, "Do you want to tell me what caused that?" Dean didn't even know how to categorize it. He still didn't know if something had happened. Was her family alright? Had something upset her? The list of possibilities only seemed to grow the more he thought about it, but Dean tried to halt the process before he got carried away.

A flat out refusal was unexpected. Dean should be used to it, trying to figure out all of the information for himself, guessing and waiting patiently until he had all of the pieces to put together, but it still frustrated him. Clearly he had a type.

He was in no position to push Hanna to tell him though and so he sighed, reaching up to run one hand through his hair now that that she was no longer shaking. "Is there anything I can do to help it not happen again?" He tried instead after a moment. Feeling useless didn't sit well with him and it would eat at him to the point of driving him crazy.

The gesture at the puzzle really wasn't much, though it had seemed to actually help the situation. Dean rested his forehead on Hanna's shoulder, still working through it. "Buy more puzzles, got it." He mumbled, trying to lighten the mood, but probably not succeeding. If that was all he was going to get, that's all he could do, he supposed.

"What do you do with them when you finish them?" Was he going to have to start framing them for decoration? That would be something.

Neither answer surprised him and he straightened up again, watching her work for a few more minutes. He wanted out of these ministry robes and to pour them each a glass of wine, but he didn't dare move. Instead he wrapped his arms more securely around her and rested his chin on her shoulder.

"Will this one go back in the box or up on my wall?" He mused. The choice had been mostly a whim, but he'd been looking for something like it, almost like an inside joke referencing back to their little beach endeavor that had started it all.