Dean was furious.

He didn’t need this kind of stress, not after taking down a vampire next followed by a siren followed by a ghoul back-to-back-to-back. He needed to sit down with a beer and a shitty Western movie. Instead? He finds out from a fit of rage from Sam that his kid, in a temper tantrum over not being allowed to come during hunts, knocked over and spilled the only vial they had of angel’s grace for their spell.

Sam was pacing back and forth, Castiel was battling with himself to either take another angel’s grace or drain his own - placing him in danger either way, something Dean refused to risk - and you were shivering and sniffling in your room, reeling from Sam’s harsh words in the heat of the moment, Castiel’s refusal to talk overall and the clawing dread of Dean’s reaction once he came home.

You hear the bunker’s door unlock all the way from where you’re sitting and your heart drops, your body stilling as Dean makes his way to your room, the anger audibly rolling off his footsteps. Finally he swings the door open fully ready to give you another earful when he sees you. His baby, curled up small and trembling in the corner of your bed, your face twisted in anguish and tear tracks lingering on your cheeks, unshed tears shimmering in your bloodshot eyes as if pleading him not to be angry too.

Dean closes the door behind him, his arms folded over his chest as he stares down at you, his expression unreadable.