['Give me back my girlhood, it was mine first.']

The air still reeks of blood and smoke even as the wind tries to wash it all away.

Dean stands in the wreckage, breath shallow, jaw clenched so tight it trembles slightly. The four bodies lie where he left them: cold, still, and no longer a threat. Not monsters, not demons, just men. The kind who smile while they destroy.

He should feel guilty. Maybe he does. But mostly, he feels relief because you're safe again.

He kneels beside you now, not a scratch on you, at least not on the outside.. Dean knew how an experience like this felt and what it left behind. The flashbacks of his own past replay in his mind like a cursed film reel: he remembers telling the story once - about sneaking out, too young, too drunk, into that punk bar he hadn't been supposed to be in. How the night blurred around the edges, how hands grabbed where they shouldn’t have.. A boy drugged and dragged into a memory he buried so deep he thought it had rotted away by now. He told it like a joke. A stupid memory from a stupid kid that wasn't pretending like a part of him hadn't been fond of it.

But then came you.

You, who trusted too easily and ached for affection in ways you never said out loud. Touch-starved and breakable in all the ways Dean once was too, but still soft. Still good.

And he realized: you would’ve let it happen. Not because you wanted it. But because you didn’t know how to say no. Because part of you was just so desperate to be wanted.

That’s when something inside him snapped. And now here he is, blood on his hands, heart in his throat, trying not to fall apart while you stare at the floor like it’s safer than looking at him.

He doesn’t know how to explain any of it but he knows you understand anyway.