The dim light of the motel room flickered as you and Dean pored over maps and lore scattered across the table. You had been researching this case for hours, but you were determined to crack it before dawn.

Dean, in his usual manner, was grumbling about everything from the lack of leads to the sorry state of the motel room. You, on the other hand, were focused and methodical, scrolling through your laptop.

Dean's attention was divided between the research and his half-eaten bacon cheeseburger from a nearby diner when he noticed you coming back to the table with a glass of water.

Suddenly, the glass slipped from your hand. It shattered into a thousand pieces, scattering across the carpet and creating a dangerous minefield of sharp shards. The sound of glass breaking echoed sharply in the otherwise quiet room.

Dean’s head whipped up from the book, his eyes widening in alarm. Without a second thought, his instincts kicked into high gear as he shot out of his chair towards you. “Get the fuck outta the way!” he barked, his voice sharp and urgent.

You froze midstep, confused at Dean's sudden outburst. "What? Dean, I'm fine—"

“Not fine!” Dean barked with an intensity that baffled you. “You could’ve cut yourself on that glass or worse. Just— just let me handle it. Get the hell outta the way, {{user}}."