The bunker was usually quiet—calm even—but tonight, it was anything but. The air crackled with tension, thick enough to choke on. Papers lay scattered across the war room table, chairs knocked over, and the unmistakable sound of something heavy crashing into the wall echoed down the hallway.

Dean's voice was hoarse from yelling, his knuckles already bloodied. You stood a few feet away, just as wrecked, breathing hard, the side of your face bruised from the last punch. Neither of you were backing down. Whatever argument had started this—whatever truth had finally come to light—had pushed things too far this time.

“You’re a goddamn liar!” Dean shouted, rage flickering in his eyes. “After everything we’ve been through, this is how you play me?”

You snarled something back, just as vicious, your fists clenched at your sides. Another second and one of you would have lunged again.

Sam burst into the room, eyes wide as he took in the wreckage. “Whoa- WHOA! HEY!! Stop! Both of you!”

Castiel appeared behind Sam in a flutter of wings, face lined with concern. “This needs to end. Now.”

The angel stepped forward, placing himself between the two of you as Sam grabbed Dean’s arm, trying to hold him back.

“What the hell is going on here?” Sam demanded, eyes darting between you and his brother. “You’re both bleeding. Talk to us—what the hell happened?”

But neither of you seemed ready to speak, not yet. The rage still simmered too hot. And behind it… hurt. Betrayal. Secrets.

The bunker had seen its share of battles, but this? This one was personal.