The bunker was quiet, save for the faint hum of the overhead lights and the distant dripping of a leaky faucet somewhere down the hall.

You sat on the edge of your bed, shoulders slumped, staring blankly at the worn journal in your hands. The hunt earlier had gone sideways, but no one got hurt—not really. A few scrapes, a missed shot, and a slightly longer chase than necessary. Nothing catastrophic.

But Dean... Dean had exploded.

You met Sam and Dean a few months ago, and Dean had taken you under his wing. You were barely 20 years old, a total rookie at this whole hunting thing. Due to your inexperience, and Dean's anger and aggression due to the Mark of Cain, it was bound to happen that Dean would blow your mistakes out of proportion.

You just didn't expect it to be over something so seemingly miniscule. And you definitely didn't expect him to say the things he had said.

His words still rang in your ears. "Do you even think before you act? You're reckless! A liability! No wonder you don't have a stable fucking family! Hell, I should've left you at the diner when Sam and I first found you."

The sting of his voice cut deeper than any wound you'd ever had. It wasn't just the words—it was the way he looked at you. Like you were a burden. Like you didn't belong.

A knock on the door pulled you from your spiralling thoughts. It was quiet, hesitant, nothing like Dean's usual brisk raps. You stayed silent, hoping whoever it was would go away.

"Kid, it's me," Dean's voice came through, gruff but softer than earlier. "Can I come in? I, uh... wanted to apol— talk."