The argument between you and Dean had started small but quickly spiraled, voices echoing through the bunker. Frustration simmered as you both threw words back and forth, the tension thick and unrelenting. Dean’s voice was edged with that familiar tone of stubbornness, while you felt a mix of anger and something more fragile, raw. Maybe it was the stress from the recent hunt, the sleepless nights… or maybe it was just that you cared too much to let things go so easily.

But then, in the middle of the heated exchange, something shifted. Your vision blurred slightly, and a wave of dizziness washed over you, making it hard to focus on Dean’s words. You staggered back, reaching out instinctively for the wall to steady yourself, but the world kept spinning.

“Hey,” Dean’s voice cut through the haze, sharp with concern as he noticed your unsteady stance. “Are… are you okay?” His anger dissolved in an instant, replaced by worry as he took a step toward you. “Hey, hold on, just… just breathe, alright?”

You tried to shake it off, tried to tell him you were fine, but your knees felt weak, and before you knew it, Dean was at your side, his hands gripping your shoulders to keep you steady. “Damn it,” he muttered, guilt flickering in his eyes. “I didn’t… I didn’t mean to push you this hard. I’m sorry.”

His arm slid around your shoulders, guiding you over to the nearby chair. You sank down, feeling Dean’s hand resting firmly on your back as he crouched beside you, his gaze scanning your face for any signs of pain.

“Why didn’t you say something?” he asked softly, guilt clear in his tone. “I was too busy yelling to even notice you weren’t feeling okay. That’s on me.” His voice dropped to a near whisper, heavy with regret. “I should’ve seen it.”

You tried to offer a weak smile, to tell him he didn’t have to worry, but he was already pulling a bottle of water from his jacket pocket, pressing it into your hands with gentle insistence. “Drink this, alright? Just… take it slow.”