She recognized Dean's touch. His lips and his hands, it didn't matter what it was. She knew it was him. It was him that had brought her back somehow and she knew. "Miss me?" Her voice was barely a whisper. She was still tired, still groggy. How was one all of these things when there wasn't even a traceable illness? Stupid curses. She didn't move much, only tilted her head to the touch of his warm hand and watched him calmly. As if she really only had been sleeping. Blue eyes watching his. "Love you." Voice still soft and full of exhaustion.
She wanted to sleep, but she was afraid. What happened if she closed her eyes and fell back into that place in between? She didn't want to lose him again even temporarily, so the touch she was grateful for. It kept her conscious and focused. It kept her sane in that place she hated so much. The hospital still reminded her of Alastair and his cold dark knife. The basement was just a few levels below them, and it only now registered to her. But Dean was always there to make it better, even now he was there beside her. The first person she saw when she woke. She reached feebly for his hand with her free one and gave him a warm smile.
Nothing would happen this time. He was going to stay there, she was awake again and death wouldn't come. Not this time anyway. Not yet. When he leaned in, she tilted her head softly to the touch to return the kiss. The bed was uncomfortable, and yet in that moment she thought of nothing else. The sound of doctors rushing about in attempt to get her now conscious vital signs and check to see that it wasn't some strange fluke didn't even phase her, it all fell away at his touch. Like they were the only two that mattered and she didn't want it to end.
She wanted to hold him and reassure him that things would be all right now but she couldn't find the strength to move. She could only enjoy his touch. Only rub her fingers gently against his own hand.