The bunker was quiet, the hum of distant lights the only sound—until you caught voices down the hall.

“I’m not just a mom, Dean,” Mary said, her voice firm. “And you’re not a child.”

A heavy silence followed, thick enough to choke on.

“I never was..” Dean answered, raw emotion cutting through his words.

Your stomach twisted. Dean didn’t break, not ever—but he was close now. You should’ve walked away, but you couldn’t move. Should you step in? No, this was family. You stayed silent, unsettled.

Later, you found him in the library, a bottle of whiskey in front of him. His shoulders slouched, eyes lost in thought.

“You planning on sharing?” you asked softly.

Dean glanced up, his voice rough. “Pity party’s invite-only.”

“Well, I’m crashing it.”

You sat down as he poured you a drink. The silence stretched until you spoke. “Heard you and Mary earlier.”

“Yeah?” he muttered. “Hear anything good?”