The room at the motel was thick with tension, the aftermath of the hunt weighing heavy between you. Dean slammed the door shut, his jaw clenched, and turned to you with a glare that could cut steel.

“What the hell were you thinking back there?” His voice was rough, low, but it carried the kind of anger born out of fear. “You could’ve gotten yourself killed pulling a stunt like that!”

You stood your ground, meeting his intensity with your own, but before you could respond, he ran a hand through his hair and paced the small space. His shoulders were tight, his breathing uneven.

“I get it,” he continued, softer now but still heated. “You’re capable, fine. But that doesn’t mean I’m just gonna stand by and watch you get hurt.” His gaze flickered to you, the raw concern behind his frustration impossible to miss.

For a moment, the air between you crackled with unsaid words and feelings neither of you dared to acknowledge, until now.

Dean stepped closer, his voice dropping to something rougher, more vulnerable. “Do you even get how much I care about you? How much I—” He stopped himself, his green eyes locking onto yours. His hand hovered near your arm like he wanted to reach out but didn’t quite dare. “Just... Be careful. Can't afford not having you here with me. Please."