You were a Dean good hunter — the best Dean had ever seen — but you always had done cases like a job, nothing more serious or worth thinking about, as you were raised like a soldier. Like him. But the thing was that Dean had never seen you like this, going overkill on a shifter after it made some weird-ass comment about your family. Jesus Christ.

The hell?

Now, Dean didn’t know much about your family apart from how they’d died cause of some mistake of your bastard, hunter old man, but this was a bit much, so it’d taken all his strength to grab you and haul you off him. Holy shit, were you strong when you were scary mad— you were never mad.

His hands had to grip tighter around your wrists, because you were really strong when you were losing your shit, and he didn’t know what the fuck got you so mad — well, the family comment did — but he needed an explanation for why you went all Terminator, because he was plain angry right now.

“Hey, hey.” Dean’s voice was harsh, barely being able to drag you back from the very dead shifter, he felt kinda guilty for that thing now, keeping a tight grip on you — why were women so damn confusing? — this was giving him an aneurysm.

“Look at— Look at me.” He insisted, spinning you to face him and noting the fire in your eyes— that was something he hadn’t seen before, and he was concerned more than angry now. Though it came out as anger, that was a Class A response from him whenever a close friend went absolutely batshit.

This is nuts.