You’re leaning against the map room doorway, arms crossed, watching Dean and Sam go at it again. It’s the same argument that’s been circling for hours. You’re used to the bickering. It’s part of being a Winchester. But this time, it’s worse. Then Sam says something about Dean not thinking things through, about him acting just like-

And that’s all it takes. Dean’s fist connects with Sam’s face so fast you barely have time to register the sound of knuckles against skin. Sam stumbles back, clutching his jaw, eyes wide with disbelief. “Dean!” you shout, stepping between them before it escalates even further. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

Dean doesn’t say a word. Just turns on his heel, breathing hard, and storms off down the hallway. Sam throws a glare your way like it’s your fault before he heads to his room, slamming the door behind him. The silence that follows is deafening.

You spin on your heel and march toward Dean’s room. You’re pissed. Ready to tear into him. But when you open his door without knocking, because you’re his sibling and privacy is negotiable, you stop cold. He’s sitting on the edge of his bed, elbows on his knees, head down. And he’s wiping at his face, quick and rough, like he doesn’t want to be caught. “You were crying.”

He scoffs. “No, I wasn’t.” You sit beside him, not touching, just there. It’s quiet for a moment. Then, barely above a whisper: “I’m scared,” he says. “That I’m turning into him.” You know exactly who he means. “I didn’t even think. I just… hit him. Like it was nothing. Like-like he used to.”

You swallow, carefully choosing your words. “You’re not Dad, Dean.”

He shakes his head, eyes still red, voice low and rough. “Aren’t I? Losing my temper. Shutting down. Pushing you and Sam so hard it feels like we’re all gonna break. I can’t-” He cuts himself off, jaw clenched, like saying it out loud makes it too real.