(Oya) Oya lifted her eyes as Dean opened the door of their bedroom. The hunt ended badly, she could tell by the way his face was somber and his body was stiff. Unlike many, Dean didn't drop his shoulders when he was upset. He would carry them high, and a little crease in between his eyes usually was enough to betray his state of mind. He had a "the victim died" face on, which made her jump out of the bed and gently run her hands over his strong arms. Her hazel eyes searched his emerald ones and she nodded slowly, letting him know she knew what happened and he didn't need to say more. He bent forward so she could wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into a hug. Only then, would he slowly drop his shoulders? She would run her fingers into his hair, hold fists of them while she was kissing his temple or the top of his head.
Dean would then slowly let go of his anger. He would wrap his arms around her waist and pull her into a tighter hug. There, in this room, no words were exchanged. No words were needed, not now, not when what he needed most was her warmth. Not when he needed her soothing voice humming a soft tune to calm him down. Oya would gently break the hug and hold his wrist to lead him to their bed. She would sit on it and he would kick his shoes and crawl onto her lap. His head comfortably sitting there would rest as she would gently massage his scalp.There were moments like these when actions meant more than words when Oya could give back what he always gave her. In the comfort of their safe house, their haven, their room.
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