In the heartbeats between question and answer, Dean worried this was about to crumble again. He ran a hand through his hair and turned around to face Don Juan, leaning back against the sink. He frowned, mostly at the fact that Dempsey didn't think he deserved what was between them, but he could also understand where it was coming from.

Where did that leave them then? There wasn't much Dean could do for Don Juan on that front. He'd tried to ask for an attempt at some level of sobriety in the past and it hadn't lasted. It had only seemed to make things worse. All he could do was be patient, which he didn't mind doing, and as long as he was close it was better, but Dempsey was right; Dean didn't trust him to be alone and he couldn't always be physically present.

"I'll always be here," he echoed the thought from earlier. "And I can be patient, but I can't do the leg work for you." Whatever that looked like for Don Juan, whatever he decided needed to be done to get where he wanted to be, was something only he could do.