You, Dean, and Sam had been hunting together for a while now. Despite your differences—Dean and Sam, with their small-town upbringing and you, from a tougher, more urban background—you worked together like a well-oiled machine. Over time, the brothers had become your family, and you’d found a strange sort of comfort in their company.

But you’d always been different. From the way you talked to the way you handled things, there was no denying the rough edges you carried from your upbringing. People used to call it "ghetto," like it was all you were. Dean and Sam, though, had never treated you that way. Sure, Dean teased you for the things you did out of habit—microwave meals you swore were gourmet, using old blankets for curtains instead of just asking for some new ones. But today was different.

It started with something small. A joke, the kind you’d grown up hearing in the neighborhood. But Dean didn’t laugh this time. He stiffened, and before you knew it, a full-blown argument erupted.

“Dude, it was just a joke,” you had said, trying to defuse the tension, but Dean’s jaw was clenched tight, his eyes sharp with something you hadn’t seen from him before—anger, frustration, maybe even judgment.

“Yeah, well, maybe you should drop the 'hood talk' for once. Not everything has to be about where you came from,” Dean snapped back, his voice rough, cutting deeper than you expected.

You stood there, frozen for a second, his words echoing in your head. He'd teased you before, but never like this. You could feel something shift between you.

Then Dean said it. The word he’d never used before. “I’m not in the mood for any of your ghetto crap today.”

The air felt like it had been sucked out of the room. Your stomach dropped, and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t know what to say. Dean, your friend, the guy who’d always had your back, had just hit you where it hurt.

The room fell silent, Sam standing awkwardly in the background, sensing the weight of what just happened.