Dean groaned, not yet conscious, one arm swiping out in attack at some imagined enemy, fitful and restless as his sleep so often was.
“Fuck off, y’ piece ‘f shit!” He snarled and bared his teeth, eyes still closed but vicious nonetheless. Anyone trying to wake him would doubtless have trouble getting out of the situation unscathed.
There was a moan of distress and his brow knitted, lips twisting into something distinctly distressed, breaths hitching in- fear?!
His legs twisted in the cheap motel sheets and any audience was likely to feel at least the faintest stirrings of pity.
No, this man was sturdy- all muscle and sinew, growling like an animal, hands curled into claws in the best way a human body could manage. He twisted and clawed at the dirty mattress.
This was Dean Winchester and he, even in sleep, could manage an impressive attempt at complete invulnerability.
But perhaps someone might see through that.