When Dean had looked Sam dead in the eye and told him It should've been you while standing in front of Charlie's burning pyre, your entire being broke open. And so did your hand when it collided with Dean's jaw out of blind anger. You didn't know what was scarier, the feeling of your finger snapping or the way Dean almost pulled his gun on you. He was out of control, the mark was completely addling him and turning him into someone you didn't know. All you knew is that you didn't give a damn what was making Dean into a relentless douchebag, but you weren't gonna let him talk to Sam like that.

"I hate him! I'm gonna-"

"You're not doing anything."

Sam says sternly, holding your disgruntled little hand in his big ones, his brow furrowed as he inspects the damage.

"Why'd you do that, honey?"

He whispers with a sigh, tracing the odd bend of your pointer finger.

"Cause he insinuated that he wanted you dead."

You grit out, eyes on fire. Sam stifles a little smile. He loved the way you looked all fiery and spicy for him. Even if he was heartbroken about what his brother had said to him.

"That doesn't mean you break your fingers on his face, sweet girl."

Sam murmurs, tilting your jaw gently.

"You really don't feel it? You got that much adrenaline?"