Dean’s body jerked when the pot slipped from your hands, crashing against the floor with a harsh clang. He flinched hard, hands shooting up to cover his face as if shielding himself from something only he could see. For a moment, the kitchen was silent except for his ragged breaths. You felt horrible, watching him closely—there was something in the way his shoulders trembled, a flicker of pain behind his eyes you hadn’t seen before.

He swallowed hard, jaw clenched tight as memories surged beneath the surface, flooding him with echoes of a past he thought he’d left behind. "I'm fine." He said as if saying it would get rid of the hand tremors.