[Tears have always done something weird to Dean; there's a moment, sharp and powerful, where he feels helpless, doesn't know what to do with that at all. Then he does whatever he has to do to make them stop; if this involves violence, he doesn't balk. First aid, he can handle. Hugs, fine.]

What? No. Don't be ridiculous. [It's an effort to keep his voice level when he shakes his head, leaving his fingers cupping her jaw, tilting first one hand and then the other so he can carefully wipe away the tears from her cheeks. His hands are always steady, callused with the blue collar work he does and warm, and he completely ignores his body's own failings. He wouldn't even acknowledge them if he wasn't forced to do so.]

Hush now, let me see. Easy. [He encourages her to lean against him where they're both sitting, more or less, on the floor and tilts her face up so he can see that there is, in fact, no damage.] Can you open them at all? Just for a moment. Just to make sure. Yeah?