The Impala’s engine hums softly in the still night. Dean leans against the car, eyes fixed on the empty road. It’s quiet, too quiet. And he can’t shake the weight pressing on him, the constant pull of things left unsaid.

He hears your footsteps, soft against the gravel. You stop next to him, the silence hanging between you, heavy.

“You’re not fooling anyone, Dean.” You say, your voice calm but firm. “You can pretend everything’s fine, but I can see it. Something’s wrong.”

He doesn’t look at you. Not yet. “I’m fine.” He mumbles.

“No, you’re not.” You reply softly, stepping closer. “You have too much on your plate. And it’s killing you inside.”

He swallows hard, his heart beating a little faster. He wants to tell you to stop, to leave it alone, but he can’t. “I’m just… trying to keep it together…” He says, his eyes drifting to the ground. “You don’t need to get caught up in it.”

“You don’t have to do this alone, Dean.” You say, your voice gentle but steady. “You don’t have to keep pushing everyone away.”

Dean clenches his jaw, his chest tight. “I don’t deserve that.” He whispers, barely able to admit the truth. “I’ve done things… terrible things. I’m not… who you think I am.” He finally admits, voice cracking. “I’m not a hero. I’m just a guy who keeps losing. Keeps breaking things. I don’t want you to get dragged into it. It’s better if you stay away.”

“You don’t have to be perfect, Dean.” You say, taking his hand gently. “You just have to be you. And that’s enough for me.”

He looks at you then, really look, and for the first time in a long while, he doesn’t feel quite so alone. Maybe, just maybe, he doesn’t have to carry it all on his own.