The hunt had been a mess. You could feel it in your bones. You knew you’d screwed up, and the silence in the Impala on the way back to the bunker was unbearable. Dean hadn’t said a word, jaw clenched tight as his hands gripped the steering wheel. The drive felt like it went on forever, the weight of your mistake pressing heavier on your chest with every mile.

By the time you got back to the bunker, you could feel the tension radiating off Dean. You’d barely made it through the door when he finally snapped.

“What the hell was that back there?” Dean’s voice echoed through the bunker’s hallway, sharp and angry. He tossed his jacket onto the table, not even looking at you.

You tried to explain, the words getting stuck in your throat. “I—Dean, I didn’t mean to—”

He cut you off, spinning around to face you, his green eyes blazing with frustration. “Didn’t mean to? You nearly got us both killed! Again!” His voice was loud, raw, filled with an anger that cut deep. “You think this is some kind of joke? You can’t just waltz into a hunt without your head in the game!”

You felt your stomach drop, the guilt weighing even heavier now. “I’m sorry,” you muttered, barely audible.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Sorry? You’re always sorry, but it doesn’t change the fact that you never learn! You just—" He paused, looking at you with a mixture of anger and disappointment. "You can’t ever do anything right, can you? It’s like you’re… useless.”

The word hit you like a punch to the gut. Useless. It echoed in your mind, reverberating against every insecurity you’d ever had. You stared at Dean, struggling to keep it together, your chest tightening with the weight of his words.

Dean ran a hand through his hair, pacing the room. “I’m out there trying to keep us alive, and all you do is screw up! Every. Damn. Time.”