“I don’t know what you want me to say, Y/N,” Dean said. He wasn’t yelling back at you or denying anything. He was standing, quietly stoic, and taking all the heat you were hurling his way.
You, on the other hand, were raging at him, feeling the heat in your chest and face that was a testament to just how angry you were. “Dean. You have to promise me you won’t do anything like that again! Ever!”
“I’m not gonna promise that–” he said.
You gave him an incredulous look. “What the hell is wrong with you?”
“I’m not gonna apologize for what I did. I did it to protect you and you’re goddamn right I’d do it again. I’d do it a thousand times,” he said quietly.
You forced out an exhale in rush, halfway between an exasperated sigh and a scoff. “Dammit Dean! Don’t I get a say in this?”
He inclined his chin and shook his head. “No. You don’t.”
You gritted your teeth and stormed out of the room, worried that you were on the edge of saying something you would later regret. As you walked away, you didn’t see how it hurt Dean to have you angry at him. But between that and standing by and doing nothing, he would choose your anger every time. That would melt away, but if he lost you he would be lost.