The bunker was too quiet for the kind of night they’d had. Fluorescent lights hummed above the war room table, catching the drying streaks of blood on Dean’s knuckles. He sat rigid, elbows planted, jaw working like he could chew through the memory if he tried hard enough.

You came in without a sound, carrying a towel and a mug that smelled like burnt coffee and something sweet. You didn’t crowd him. You just set the mug within reach, then dampened the towel in the sink and wrung it out slow, like time could be convinced to behave.

Dean’s eyes stayed on the tabletop. “I should’ve seen it,” he said, voice rough. “I keep missing the signs. I keep—” he stopped, shoulders rising with a breath that didn’t make it all the way in.

“You’re not missing them,” you said softly. “You’re carrying too many at once.”

That earned a humorless huff. “Sounds like an excuse.”

“It’s the truth.” You moved closer, careful, and held up the towel like a question.

After a beat, Dean gave the smallest nod.

You took his hand, yours steady, and wiped away the grime and blood from his knuckles. Your touch wasn’t delicate for the sake of it. It was gentle because you meant it. Dean flinched once when you hit a split skin, then exhaled, like letting you help was the only thing keeping him upright.

“I hate this,” he admitted, quieter now. “I hate that it gets to me.”

“It should get to you,” you replied. “You’re still human. That’s not a weakness, Dean. It’s proof you haven’t turned into what you fight.”

Dean swallowed hard, eyes shining but stubborn. “Yeah? Tell that to the people who don’t make it.”

You set the towel down and leaned in until your shoulder brushed his. “I will,” you said. “But right now, I’m telling you. You did everything you could. And you’re here. You’re breathing. You’re allowed to be tired.”

For a long moment, he didn’t move. Then Dean’s hand curled around yours, gripping like a lifeline.

“Stay,” he said, like it cost him something.

“I’m here,” you promised. “It’s over for tonight. You’re safe. I’ve got you.”

Dean let his forehead dip toward your shoulder, just enough to finally stop holding himself together alone.