Dean is pissed. This last hunt didn’t go according to plan. In the heat of the moment, you risked yourself for the life of an innocent victim. Dean knew you could handle yourself but the way his heart immediately sank had been sickening.

You two get back to the motel, tensions at an all time high, he is silent the entire drive. Like a ticking bomb waiting to go off, the fuse crackling down. He slams the door when you get into the motel. The ruckus rings through the small room.

“I can’t believe you.” He grits out, attempting to smother the rage bubbling inside himself but failing to do so.

The rage masked the complete horror he felt watching you almost die earlier. He’s pissed. Maybe because it was easier to be angry than it was to be scared. Hide the compassion with fury. “I’m so sick of you thinking you can just throw yourself in the line of fire like that!” You were reckless, he explicitly told you to be careful during this hunt, and you go and pull a stunt like that?

You start to say something about being able to ‘handle yourself’ but Dean isn’t having it. Not this time.

“Quit the hero complex—we need you here—I need you here, for fucks sakes {{user}}!” He snaps and corners you. Unmoving, unrelenting in his frustration. His hand is fisted in the collar of your shirt as he pushes you back into the wall. Paying no mind to the way you cowered back—all he could see was red. All he could see was a future without you. All he could see was his fault.

“I don’t care how capable you are.” He grits out, he knows you can handle yourself but if only you knew the nauseating drop of his heart plummeting down to his ass—maybe then you could grasp why he’s so livid. “Don’t do that. Just- fuck talk to me at least! Instead of just leaping in front of the—“

In front of the immediate danger. Instead of risking your life for the ‘greater good’. Fuck that. That was his job. Not yours. Period, end of story.

”FUCK.” He utters the profanity with a lack of other words to express the feelings consuming him right about now. His anger issues were surfacing, he could feel it but damnit he needed to pummel his point into your head. This couldn’t happen again—he won’t allow it. and grips your shirt harder, jaw clenching, eyes burning with aggravation.

It wasn’t often Dean got serious, but when he did—it was serious.