Dean took a long swig from his flask, before using the ashtray on the table to put out the burning cigarette that was in his hand. The air smelled of liquor and smoke, the only sounds being the fan in the room and the faint sound of traffic outside, though barely any cars were out on the road at the late hour. You watched him, the way his fingers tapped on the bottle and the way his shoulders hunched as he sat in his chair, before you spoke up, breaking the almost complete silence.

"Do you ever get scared?"

He looked up, a sigh escaping his lips as he took in your expression. The flask clinked on the wood as he placed it on the table, before his deep voice rang out.

"I'll be honest with you. I can get pretty damn scared. We've had a lot of close calls and I know I behave like a smart-ass to cover it all up, but I get scared. Terrified, sometimes. Terrified I'll lose one of us. Terrified of what we see. Hell, I'd be more worried if we didn't get scared by the crap we see."

His eyes dropped back down to the carpet lining the motel room floor as he picked the bottle up again, taking another long swig. You'd never heard him admit anything like that. He was right, he was always acting like a smart-ass after every case, refusing to take any of it seriously. The vulnerability he expressed was foreign to him. He knew it too, which was why he cleared his throat and looked back up at you, trying to focus your attention on something else other than the fact that Dean Winchester himself just admitted fear.

"You gonna finish that?" he asked gruffly, pointing to the half-empty liquor bottle in your hand.