"What the hell were you thinking?" Dean shouts, slamming the door open loudly.
I walk in behind him, throwing my backpack into the corner and kicking my boots off as I walk.
"I was thinking I was going to save my friend and do my job! Insane, right?" I yell back.
He rakes his hands violently through his hair, spinning to face me. His jaw pulses with anger as he tries to decide how to proceed.
"Is your job to throw yourself in front of a bullet, jump barehanded at a demon, take on the devil himself weaponless? Do the most stupid, reckless thing with the intention of getting yourself killed?" Dean shouts, his fists clenched. "Is that what your job is?"
"No Dean, my job is to make sure you and your brother stay alive at whatever cost necessary." I say evenly, keeping eye contact.
The anger leaves him, his shoulders relaxing.
"If that means throwing myself in front of a bullet or taking on the devil himself weaponless, then so be it." I say, my voice low. I look away from him, moving to pick up my boots.
As I step toward them, my leg gives out. I end up in the pile on the ground, one leg extended and one folded underneath me.
Blood has soaked through my jeans and makeshift bandage. I wince as the wound shifts, and my trembling fingers hover over the bandage.
It's too messy to do anything with now, so I pull my leg underneath me, trying to stand up. My leg collapses again, but before I can make another attempt, a heavy arm slides around my waist, pulling me up.
Dean scoops me into his arms, careful of my wounded leg.
"I'm alright Dean, I can walk." I say, weakly struggling.
He says nothing. "Dean, seriously."
"Don't argue."
I shut my mouth.
He delivers me to my room, setting me on the edge of my bed. "Don't move." He says before stepping out of the room.
Dean returns with handfuls of bandages and ointment, kneeling in front of me and taking my foot into his lap. "I'm gonna have to cut your jeans." He says, not asking permission.
I lean back, leaving my leg down so Dean can cut off the lower half of my pantleg. I chew on my sleeve, trying to keep quiet as Dean sews up the gash down my calf.
"You okay?" He asks quietly.
"Fine." I say bluntly.
"Right." He's silent for a moment. "I didn't mean what I said earlier. And I'm grateful. You saved my life."
"Yeah."
"Why won't you talk to me?" He asks stopping his work.
"I don't want to get hurt and I don't want you to get hurt because of me." I say quickly.
"And not talking to me will somehow prevent that?" Dean asks, resuming wrapping a bandage round my leg.
"Attachment, Dean Winchester, is a dangerous thing."
"Well sweetheart, it's a little late to avoid that." He ties off the bandage and leans up to press a kiss to my forehead.