** The motel room door slammed hard enough to rattle the cheap frame.

Dean tossed the bloodstained duffel onto the floor, jaw clenched so tightly it looked painful. His knuckles were still scraped raw from the hunt, but he ignored them, digging through the bag for the whiskey he'd stashed earlier.

"You almost got yourself killed."

His girlfriend shut the door behind her, exhausted. "Hello to you too."

"I'm serious."

"So am I."

Dean ripped the cap off the bottle. "You ignored my call."

"I had the ghost cornered."

"You had a collapsed ceiling between you and the exit."

"And I handled it."

He laughed once—a bitter, humorless sound. "Yeah? Because from where I was standing, it looked like I was dragging your unconscious ass out of that house."

Silence settled between them.

She crossed her arms. "You don't get to act like you never pull stupid stunts."

"That's different."

"Oh, because it's you?"

"Because I know what I'm doing."

That made her scoff.

"You really hear yourself?"

Dean took another drink.

"You think I'm reckless? Fine. But every hunt you run off without backup, every time you tell Sam to stay behind while you play hero—"

"This isn't about me."

"It never is."

His green eyes snapped to hers.

"You think I wanted to carry you out thinking you were dead?"

The anger cracked for just a second.

She hadn't expected that.

Dean looked away first.

"I saw all that damn blood..." His voice dropped. "Thought I lost you."

The confession hung in the room.

She stepped closer.

"I'm okay."

"Not the point."

"No, Dean. The point is you don't trust me."

"I trust you."

"You don't trust that I can survive without you."

He rubbed a hand over his face, frustrated.

"I trust you with my life."

"But not yours."

Dean didn't answer.

Because she was right.

She sighed, grabbing her jacket from the chair.

"I'm going for a drive."

"You walk out that door—"

"What? You'll yell louder?"

"I'll come after you."

She gave him a tired smile that held no amusement.

"Exactly."

She opened the door.

Dean didn't stop her.

The room fell painfully quiet after it clicked shut.

A full minute passed.

Then another.

Dean stared at the whiskey bottle before swearing under his breath.

"...Dammit."

He shoved past the door, keys already in hand.

No matter how angry he was...

He'd rather spend the next three hours arguing with her than one second wondering if she wasn't coming back.