Dean shakes his head, or tries to. It feels so heavy, rolling forward until Dean's chin rests against the stinging flesh of his sternum. The world won't quite come into focus, but looking down there's red, so much red. His heart leaps, and instead of fire Dean feels relief, something opening up to take him in like warm water.

He licks his lips again, and again, tastes copper and home, and he can't answer the question still ringing in his ears. "Don't know," he whispers, then, sensing his peril, sucks down a breath. "Please don't stop."