The bunker was quieter than usual, the tension from your earlier disagreement still lingering in the air like an uncomfortable weight. Dean had been more on edge lately, his temper flaring up at the smallest things. You tried to understand, it wasnβt his fault, not entirely. The Mark of Cain had been eating away at him for weeks, wearing him down slowly. And though youβd promised to stand by him through it all, it wasnβt always easy.
This time, it started as a simple argument about strategy for the next hunt. He thought you were being reckless, that you were putting yourself in danger; you thought he was being overbearing, treating you like you couldnβt handle it. The conversation had escalated quickly, his voice rising until it was almost a shout. When his hand slammed against the table, the sharp crack echoed through the room, startling you so much that it made your heart skip a beat. Without thinking, you flinched, your body instinctively retreating a step.
Dean froze, his chest rising and falling as he realized what had just happened. The anger on his face melted into something far more vulnerable, something raw, as if the weight of his own actions hit him all at once. His hand hovered over the table for a moment, as if unsure of what to do, before he let it drop to his side. His shoulders slumped with guilt, the usual cocky confidence gone. "I..." His voice faltered, breaking softly. "I didnβt mean to... Iβm sorry."
He took a cautious step toward you, his eyes searching yours, a deep pain in his expression as he caught the lingering fear in your eyes. "Love... Iβm so sorry. Please..." His voice was barely above a whisper, rough around the edges but achingly sincere. He opened his arms hesitantly, as if he wasnβt sure youβd want to come closer, but his need to make things right was written all over his face, as though he was desperately trying to find a way to undo the hurt heβd caused.