Without A Trace >> Dean Winchester

26 | Unloved

26 | Unloved

"WHAT'S BOTHERING you, Dean?"

Dean whipped his head to the side, surprised at the sudden question. She saw how his eyebrows were knitted together for the past few minutes, and how tired he looked with the layered eye bags under his eyes.

"Nothing." He grumbled, and avoided eye contact with her. Tension built, and there was no more fun atmosphere they just had a while ago. To Clarissa, it seemed like he built a wall around himself, to isolate himself from humanity. She clicked her tongue— just when I thought I could crumble them down.

"I'm sorry for intruding your feud with Sam in that motel." she muttered. The nausea  was getting to her, since she's bringing up her mistake now.

He widens his eyes, turning to look at Clarissa, waving his hands around hastily, "no, no. that's fine— I'm not angered by that."

She huffed, she knew he was going to be stubborn now, "oh really? You seemed to be, though. You told me to 'snap out of it,' because it doesn't 'concern' me."

"Because it doesn't." He hissed, his veins pulsating from his neck.

She flinched at his harsh, cold tone. No. What's happening with Dean? Is he okay? She refused to show her disappointment, though, and continued, "I may not know what the issue is between you and your brother, but I can help. I'm always here to help."

"That's the problem." He halted in his tracks, turning to look at Clarissa. "This is not safe for you. You're in danger just for living with us!"

"And?! You should know damn well that as a hunter, there is not a single moment when you're safe and sound."

"So what— you're going start throwing away your life?!" He threw his hands up.

"Isn't that exactly what you do?"

His mouth shut close, taken aback. Deafening silence passed, Clarissa stared into his eyes that looked so empty of emotion. There wasn't a spark in them—not that there was one when she met him. Sighing deeply, Dean bit his lip. He looked towards Clarissa apologetically and ran a tired hand through his messy hair.

"I—look, I'm just worried about Sam, okay? He's all fired up to finish these trials, and I told him that I trust him— I do. But...I don't know, what if he gets killed?"

In an instant, her anger melted into a puddle. A wave of nausea rolled in her stomach when she placed a hand on his tensed shoulder and pat it slightly. "Sam's a strong boy. He'll do well for sure."

"Am I doing my part as an older brother? To take care of my little brother?"

A part of Clarissa shattered when he heard his voice crack. His eyes were brimming with tears, and she knew it must've been all the worry and stress suppressed together.

He looked broken. Sad. Why?

Clarissa smiled softly, looking at Dean in a calm manner, "you really do remind me of John."

His lips twisted up in what seemed like displeasure, "how am I similar to him?"

She resisted the urge to tear her gaze away from Dean's, but she kept still, "I did tell you John taught me hunting, correct?"