Hudson worried about him when he was gone, but that was the whole point he was trying to get across. He didn't get that bad anymore, and that was directly because of Dean. He didn't see it because they never talked about it, but Don Juan had been cutting back significantly, if not in frequency than certainly in quantity. He had been trying to take care of things so that Dean didn't have to worry about him — but it was always for nothing, because Dean assumed the worst when he was gone. But Don Juan didn't say any of this, because suddenly Hudson was stepping back and his fists were balled and Don Juan was having trouble remembering when he'd last seen him this angry. What the fuck do I get? he asked and Don Juan thought you get me — but the voice of his internal monologue had gotten small, cowed by Dean's expression, and about to get smaller.

He couldn't hide the hurt as Hudson continued. Little notes, grand gestures, or a cute face. It would have been hard to think of a more efficient way to dash his spirit, even if Hudson had been intentionally setting out to do it. Such a dismissive little laundry list. The message it conveyed: I see the things you bring to the table and they are not enough. I know what I get here and it's not enough. You are not enough.

"Guess I'm not cut out for a real relationship," he said, hollow.

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