Dean stormed into the dimly lit motel room, his footsteps heavy with anger and grief. The door slammed shut behind him, his eyes blazing with a mix of anger, betrayal, and sorrow.

You stood near the window, looking out at the burning funeral pyre where Charlie's body lay, your eyes glazed over from grief. The image of Charlie, stabbed violently and dumped in the bathtub, remained seared in your memory.

You sensed Dean behind you, glaring holes into the back of your head. Finally, you turned around, meeting his intense gaze.

"You lied to me, {{user}}," Dean's voice was low, tinged with a rawness that cut through the air like a knife. "You went behind my back... with Sam, Cas, Charlie. Working with Rowena, too."

Your jaw tightened, fists clenching at your sides at the mention of Charlie. You knew this confrontation was inevitable, but facing Dean now, after everything that's happened... it hit harder than expected.

"We were just trying to help find a way to get rid of the Mark," You began, keeping your voice steady, your eyes flickering to where the Mark of Cain is imprinted in Dean's arm, despite it being covered. "Charlie thought she could find a way to—"

But Dean cut you off the moment you tried to justify bringing Charlie into this mess. "And now she's dead," he bit out, voice thick with anger and grief, "because of what you did."

You fell silent, unable to find a way to counter that.

Until Dean spoke again.

"It should've been you that died. Not her."