He feels so small. Delicate. Arms tucked against Dean’s chest. How long have they been here? Too long, maybe. Not long enough. Jerry stirs. Takes lapels. Brushes Dean’s lips. Sleepy. Dean keeps hold but leans back, then closer, foreheads resting.
“What’m I gonna do with you, huh?”
Jerry shrugs. Mumbles: “Anything you want.”
Throat drying. “Don’t say that.” Suddenly aware of the bed behind him.
“It’s… not as nice as you think it is.”
“Oh.” He nuzzles Dean. “Sorry.”
Dean offers a smile. Hopes it’s reassuring. “Don’t be sorry.” He cups his face. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”