You hadn’t meant to eavesdrop. Hell, you didn’t even know they were in the room until you heard the crash. Dean’s voice followed, low and ragged. “Jesus Christ, can you not throw shit at me for five seconds?”

“Oh, I’m so sorry,” Ashley said mockingly, her voice dripping with venom. “Did I hurt your little ego, Dean? Poor baby.” You froze in the hall just outside the door, heart racing. That wasn’t arguing. That was something else. “You don’t get to leave me,” she hissed. “You think someone like you gets to walk away from me? You should be grateful I’ve put up with you this long.”

Grateful?” Dean’s voice cracked with disbelief, a bitter laugh following. “You think this-this is what I should be thankful for?” He was getting pissed. “You treat me like crap, you talk to me like I’m nothing, and I’m just supposed to sit there and take it because what? You settled for me?”

There was silence. Then a sickening, sharp sound. A slap. “Don’t raise your voice at me, Winchester,” she snarled. “You don’t get to act like you’re some victim. You’re trash. Always have been. Only reason anyone keeps you around is out of pity.”

That was enough. You didn’t knock. You didn’t call out. You threw the door open like a storm. She spun around in surprise, but not nearly fast enough. “What in the hell is going on here?” you demanded, voice shaking with fury. Dean stood a few feet back, face pale, lip bleeding. You looked at him. Really looked at him. There were bruises forming on his arms; finger-shaped. One on his jaw, faint but there. And his eyes, God, his eyes looked empty. Like he’d already convinced himself he deserved it.

Ashley just rolled her eyes. “This isn’t your business.”

“It became my business the second you touched him like that and thought no one would care,” you growled.

She scoffed. “Oh please. He’s a grown man. He can take a few hits. He acts like a damn dog half the time, always following you and Sam around, begging for scraps of affection-”