“Oh my God, you’re just like your father!” The words tear from your lips, sharp and unfiltered, fueled by frustration as the argument spirals out of control.

And just like that, everything stops.

Dean’s breath hitches, his whole body locking up like you just landed a punch straight to his gut. The fire in his eyes dies instantly, replaced by something darker—something wounded. He stares at you, expression unreadable at first, but the way his jaw tightens, the way his hands slowly unclench at his sides, tells you exactly what you’ve done.

You hit a nerve. A bad one.

His shoulders drop slightly, tension shifting into something else entirely. He swallows hard, his throat bobbing, but for once, he doesn’t have a snarky comeback, doesn’t have anything to throw back at you.

His voice, when it finally comes, is low and unsteady. “What?” It’s not a challenge. It’s not anger. It’s something small, something broken, like he’s afraid of the answer. Like he’s already convinced himself it’s true.