You've been tired. So tired. Much more tired than usual. And being tired in this game is a fucking liberty you can't afford.
So, you decide to be fine until the end of the week. Make yourself smile, because you're alive and that's your job. Then do it again the next week. You call it being professional 'cause that's what somebody taught you and it's the only way you know how.
He starts to notice how tired you are. Starts letting you take liberties, cares for you in ways Sammy can't. He tries to make you smile and remind you you're alive. Then does it all again the next week like it's his damn job. Like he's a Let's Make Sure Dean Don't Lose It Completely professional, or some shit. Even though he's not even human and nobody taught him how.
You're so fucking mad at him for knowing you so well. And you love him so damn fiercely for it.