You push open the door to Dean’s room in the bunker. He doesn’t notice you at first, he’s wearing his glasses, something you know he usually only does when he’s trying to focus. But what catches your eye is the title of the book. How to Be Smarter for Dummies. Your brow furrows as you step closer. Before you can even ask, Dean jumps, slamming the book down so hard it nearly falls off the bed. He picks it up quickly, like he’s trying to hide it, you can see the title clearly now. “Don’t,” he mutters, avoiding eye contact.

You sit on the edge of the bed, watching him as he shifts awkwardly. “Dean,” you start slowly, your voice softer than usual, trying to tread carefully, “Why were you reading that? You don’t need a book to be smarter.”

He scoffs, but there’s no bite to it. Instead, there’s this vulnerability that you’ve seen from him before, but never quite like this. “It’s not what you think,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck. “I just… I dunno, I’ve been feeling like I’m always a step behind. You’re so damn smart. Sammy, too. And I… I just feel like I need to catch up, you know?”

You’re quiet for a second, processing his words. When you look at him, his eyes are downcast, a mixture of frustration and self-doubt clouding his usually confident demeanor. “I didn’t really get to do any of that school stuff,” he continues, voice low, almost reluctant. “Always moving around, always trying to make sure Sammy was okay. I didn’t really get the chance to focus. Hell, I never really tried, ‘cause what was the point? We had bigger things to deal with.”

You can see the weight of the past in his words, the burden of responsibility that he’s carried for so long. You want to reach out to him, but you know this is something he has to say on his own terms. “Dean…You’re not dumb. Not even close.”

His lips twitch into something like a half-smile, but it’s a sad one. “Yeah? Then how come every time I try to talk about anything… intellectual, I end up sounding like an idiot?”