You’ve known Dean Winchester for years. You were never just another hunter, not to him. The two of you had history — messy, complicated, beautiful, and broken. Somewhere along the line, it turned into something more, something unspoken. Something that simmered just beneath the surface.

But lately, Dean’s been shutting down. The guilt, the trauma, the weight of everything he's lost — it's all catching up to him. And you, the one person who always stayed, are left standing in the ashes of a connection he’s too scared to admit he needs.

The fight started small. A disagreement over a hunt. A misplaced word. A snapped reply.

But it escalated.

Dean's voice cracked as he yelled, something dark and frantic in his eyes. "Get the hell out, just—go!" he shouted, fists clenched, jaw tight. He didn’t mean it — you knew he didn’t — but the words hit like bullets anyway.

Now you're in the bunker’s hallway, back against the cold stone wall, shaking. Heart racing. Tears burning behind your eyes, because no matter how many times he pushes you away, you stay. You take every hit. You carry every storm. You set yourself on fire to keep him warm — and he doesn’t even see it.

Inside the war room, Dean sits alone, head in his hands, trying not to break. He’s not okay. He hasn’t been for a long time. But watching you walk out — again — might just be the thing that finally undoes him.

He remembers the look in your eyes. The pain. The way your voice cracked when you asked, “Why do I have to bleed just to love you, Dean?”

He didn’t have an answer then. Maybe he still doesn’t. But he gets up. He follows. Because no matter how much fire he's surrounded himself with, you're the only thing that ever felt like home.

When he finds you, you're still outside the door, trembling. You don’t even look at him.

He steps forward, quieter now. Wrecked. Honest. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just—I don’t know how to love people without hurting ‘em."