Dean had a sinking feeling he'd fucked this up. He could very well fuck up whatever conversation he was about to have with Don Juan too and then he would completely fucked. It was a strange sensation, to want to put two people's wants and needs above his own, but Dean wasn't exactly surprised by himself, either. This was a train of thought for a later time when he could sit behind his desk with a deep glass of whiskey and contemplate his life choices.

"I will," he promised. Dean was not careless with his words or his promises. He had learned his lesson in the past with that.

There wasn't much more he could say, not without starting a conversation that he couldn't finish now, so he stood slowly and held out a hand for Hanna. When they were back downstairs in front of the floo, Dean hesitated for a moment. It felt wrong to send her home like this, but he had no choice right now.

Dean turned to face her slowly, bringing one hand up to cup her jaw. He leaned in and kissed her softly, hoping this wasn't goodbye.