Written by: KariGorsuch

The rhythmic thud of my fist connecting with the punching bag echoed in the quiet of Bobby's spare garage, the only other sound the harsh rasp of my breath as I swung again, my knuckles cracking against the worn leather. My muscles burned, the sting of the bag just a small distraction compared to the fire in my chest. Anger, frustration— towards Sam, towards myself, towards everything that had fallen apart in the last few days.

I gritted my teeth and let another blow land harder than the last, my fists moving faster, fueled by a bitterness I couldn't quite shake. Sweat slicked my skin, but I didn't care. Anything to get the rage out.

I didn't hear him approach until the sound of footsteps on gravel reached me. I didn't stop.

"Bri."

I knew that voice. Dean.

I didn't acknowledge him, just threw another punch, my focus unwavering.

He sighed, shifting his weight as he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed. "You don't make things easy, do you?"

I threw another punch, landing it square on the bag with enough force to rattle the chains holding it up. "You think this is hard?" I spat, my voice rough from the exertion. "You should try living in my head right now."

Dean's footsteps moved closer, his presence heavy, though I could tell he was trying not to step on my nerves. "You know, just 'cause you're pissed off doesn't mean you gotta take it out on everything around you," he said, voice quieter now but still carrying that signature Dean tone. "Especially the bag."

I gritted my teeth, ignoring the heat in my chest. "Then what do you suggest, Dean? Let it sit? Let it fester?"

He took another step forward. "I'm not sayin' that, but punching shit isn't gonna fix anything. You've gotta deal with it."

I paused, hands still resting against the bag. I turned my head slightly, catching him out of the corner of my eye. "And what? Talk to you about it? I'm really not in the mood for another lecture."

Dean held up his hands, like he was giving me space, but his stance was firm. "No lectures. Just... thought you could use someone to talk to."

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Not when all I've got is a broken record of everyone telling me how I'm wrong."

There was a beat of silence. Then, "Alright. Fine." Dean's voice shifted. "If you won't talk to me, how 'bout we spar?"

I paused, eyes narrowing in suspicion as I gave him a look over my shoulder. "Spar?"

Dean's grin was all cocky confidence. "Yeah. You know, like you're already doing, just without the bag. I'm offering you a chance to kick my ass for a change."

I couldn't stop the half-amused, half-exasperated laugh that bubbled up. "You think I can't take you?"

He raised an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure you can, but that doesn't mean I'm not willing to go a few rounds. Just 'cause you're pissed doesn't mean you can't take a swing at me."

I turned fully toward him now, stepping away from the bag. "You're on," I muttered, my hands curling into fists.

Dean rolled his shoulders, cracking his neck. "Alright then. But don't say I didn't warn you."

I rushed at him first, throwing a quick jab aimed at his chest, but he dodged, moving like he had years of practice avoiding punches, which of course, he did.

But I was quicker this time, my frustration and anger pushing me faster than I thought I could move. I dodged his counter, moving around him to land a hit to his ribs. Dean's grunt of surprise only made me push harder.

He smirked, his own strikes coming faster now, landing a hit to my side that made me stumble slightly. "Damn, Bri. You've been holding out on me."

I gritted my teeth, adjusting my stance. "You don't know the half of it."

Another punch landed in his gut, and I could feel the tension leaving me with every swing. We moved in a blur of quick, controlled hits and dodges, each of us matching the other's pace.

But then, out of nowhere, Dean feigned a hit to my left side and got me good with a hook to my right, knocking the breath out of me. I staggered back, caught off guard.

Dean immediately stepped back, his hands up in a defensive stance. "You alright?"

I shook my head, trying to steady my breath. "Fine," I grunted, wiping a hand across my mouth. "That was dirty."

Dean chuckled, a low, knowing sound. "Ain't no rules in sparring, sweetheart."

I raised an eyebrow at him, trying to hide the grin that tugged at my lips. "You're a real piece of work, Winchester."

He shrugged. "Comes with the territory." He extended a hand toward me. "You still in?"

I considered it for a moment, my body aching, but the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. "Yeah," I muttered, "but next time, I'm knocking you on your ass."

Dean laughed, stepping back into position, ready for round two. "Bring it on, Bri. You'll need more than that to take me down."

I took a deep breath, my blood still pumping, but this time, it wasn't just from the adrenaline of the fight. My chest tightened with something far darker—resentment, betrayal. And Dean was just standing there, waiting for me to take the next swing.

But this time, when I charged at him, it wasn't a playful spar. This wasn't just a way to vent some anger. This was me finally letting the weight of everything I'd been holding back come crashing down.

I feinted to the left, but instead of following through with a punch, I drove my shoulder into his stomach, sending him stumbling back. The impact rattled through me, but it felt damn good to actually land a hit that mattered. Dean caught his balance and attempted to throw a jab toward my ribs, but I caught his fist midair and twisted his arm behind his back. I slammed him into the concrete floor, pinning him there with my knee.

"You think I don't have a right to be pissed off?!" I gritted through clenched teeth, the bitterness in my words sharp.

Dean grunted under the pressure, struggling to get up. "Bri, this—"

"Shut the hell up!" I shouted, my voice cold, even as I raised my hand and slammed it down on his shoulder. The impact left him groaning in frustration, but I wasn't done. I wasn't letting him off the hook so easily.

"You let Eve get taken by those assholes in Casper, Dean! This whole vampire thing-"

Dean rolled, throwing me off balance and escaping the hold. "She'd be dead if I fought back!"

I hit the ground hard, but I was quick to roll with it, jumping back to my feet as Dean scrambled up. My heart pounded in my chest, but now it wasn't just anger driving me—it was something deeper, something heavier. "She wouldn't have been in that position in the first place if you had acted sooner!" I shot back, voice rising with frustration.

Dean stood tall, wiping the sweat from his brow, his eyes burning with that familiar, stubborn fire. "You think I don't know that?!" he growled. "I didn't have a choice, Bri! They had her! What the hell was I supposed to do, throw myself into the fire when I knew I wouldn't make it out?"

I clenched my fists, my knuckles white. "You fight for her, Dean. You fight for the people you care about, not stand there and watch them get taken!" My words cracked, my breath coming fast. "She needed you, and you stood there like you were powerless."

Dean's jaw tightened, but I saw the flicker of guilt in his eyes. "I did what I had to do. If I'd gone in reckless, we'd both be dead, Bri."

I took a step forward, not giving him an inch. "Dead?" I spat, shaking my head. "You're always hiding behind that excuse, Dean. You did nothing, and that's why it happened. You don't just sit back and hope for the best when someone you care about is in danger. You go to hell and back for them! Even if it's reckless. Especially if it's reckless!"

I jabbed my fist into his chest, hard enough to make him stumble back a step. "You want to talk about doing what you had to do? That's your excuse for everything. But you didn't have to do anything, Dean. You just didn't want to risk it. You didn't want to take the real hit, to really put yourself in danger for someone else."

Dean's face twisted with frustration as he wiped the sweat dripping from his forehead. "I wasn't going to just throw my life away for nothing, Bri," he shot back, his voice gruff, but beneath the anger, I could hear the hurt that was bubbling up. "You think I don't give a damn about her? About any of this? You think this is easy for me?"

I wasn't done. Not yet. The anger boiled in my veins, and I went in again, a blur of motion—punching, throwing, dodging. My fists collided with his chest, his stomach, each blow carrying the weight of the frustration I had been holding inside for so long. He blocked some, but not all. "Obviously not! You seem to think it's fuckin' fine that she was turned!"

Dean grunted as my fist slammed into his stomach, but he didn't go down. He stepped back, eyes narrowing with something darker than frustration now—something close to the guilt I had wanted him to feel all along. His chest heaved, his face flushed from the physical exertion, but there was no mistaking the hardness in his jaw as he stared me down.

"You think I wanted this, Bri?" he bit out, voice low but strained. "You think I wanted her to get taken? Do you think I'm out here making decisions for the hell of it?" He took a step toward me, closing the gap between us, but I wasn't backing down.

"You could have done something," I shot back, my voice cracking as my frustration boiled over. "You could have fought harder, done something different. But you didn't, Dean. You didn't even try!"

I threw another punch, aiming for his ribs. He dodged, but I could tell he wasn't as quick as usual. The hits were landing, and I wasn't going to stop until I said everything I needed to say.

"You always have an excuse!" I shouted, throwing another jab at his side, but this time, he caught my wrist. His grip tightened, stopping me mid-swing. His eyes, once blazing with anger, were now filled with something else—something raw, like he was barely holding it together.

"Jesus, Bri," he muttered, releasing my wrist slowly. "I'm not the damn villain here."

I jerked my arm back, heart pounding in my chest, not ready to let him off the hook just yet. "You might not be, but you sure as hell played the part," I growled. "You were supposed to be there for her. I trusted you."

Dean's eyes flickered, a mix of frustration and something deeper—guilt, maybe regret—flashing across his face. He took a deep breath, trying to steady himself, but I could see it, the conflict running through him.

"You think I didn't want to be there for her? You think I didn't want to save her, Bri?" His voice was rough, strained, and for a second, it sounded almost like a plea. He took a step toward me, but I didn't move an inch. My stance was firm, and I wasn't going to let him off the hook. Not now. Not after everything.

"You think I didn't try?!" he continued, his voice rising with frustration, his hands clenching into fists by his sides. "I tried everything I could think of! But she got taken, and no matter what I did, it wasn't enough."

His jaw tightened as he looked me square in the eyes. "And I know that. Trust me, I know. But don't you dare stand there and act like you know what it's like to have to choose between who gets to walk away alive."

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us again. The anger in me hadn't cooled, not even a little. "You don't get it, Dean," I spat, my voice low, tight with emotion. "You didn't have to choose between lives—you just chose to sit back and let her get taken. You stood there like it was someone else's problem, and then you think you can play the fucking martyr when it all goes to hell?"

My voice cracked as I added, "You think you're the only one who's had to make hard decisions?"

Dean's face tightened, his nostrils flaring as if he was fighting to keep his cool. He didn't speak at first. Instead, he closed his eyes briefly, exhaling like he was trying to calm himself.

But I wasn't done.

"She trusted you to protect her. And you failed. She needed you, Dean, and you let her get taken. You failed her."

His eyes snapped open, and for a second, I saw something flicker in his expression—something like pain. But it was quickly replaced by anger, raw and burning.

"You wanna talk about failure, Bri?" he growled, stepping closer until we were toe to toe. "You walked away, just because Sam made the wrong choice."

I felt the heat of his words like a slap, and it was my turn to flinch. But I didn't back down. Instead, I stepped right into his space, pushing against the weight of his anger.

"You think that's the same?!" I snapped, my chest heaving as the adrenaline and anger surged through me. "I walked away because I was tired, Dean. Tired of being abandoned. Tired of someone else making my life choices for me. I lost my fucking family because my parents decided I would marry some guy they decided would be good for me. "

Dean's anger faltered for half a second, his eyes searching mine, but I didn't give him a chance to speak.

"I lost everything because people who claimed to love me thought they knew what was best. And you wanna know the difference between me and you?" I jabbed a finger into his chest, ignoring the burn in my knuckles. "I made my choice. You? You just keep making the same goddamn mistakes and expecting different results."

Dean's jaw tightened, his breath coming sharp through his nose. "You think I don't know that?" he hissed. "You think I don't lie awake every damn night knowing I should've done more?"

"Then why the fuck do you keep doing it, Dean?" I snapped, pushing him back. "Why do you keep acting like your hands are tied when they're not? You keep making choices that get the people you care about hurt, and you never fucking learn!"

Dean's fists clenched at his sides. His chest rose and fell like he was barely holding himself together, but I didn't stop.

"You let Eve get turned. You let it happen. Because it was easier to stand there and do nothing than to make the hard call. Because you're so goddamn scared of losing people that you freeze when it matters." My voice wavered, but I kept going. "And now, she's gotta live with the consequences of your choices. Just like Sam has to live with mine."

Dean's breath hitched, and something in his face shifted—like I'd struck something deeper than just the surface wounds.

"Yeah," I murmured, stepping back, my arms dropping to my sides as the fight finally bled out of me. "Now you get it."

Dean exhaled sharply, rubbing a hand over his face. He looked exhausted—like he'd just been through a war, and maybe he had. Maybe we both had.

Silence stretched between us, heavy and suffocating.

Finally, Dean let out a rough, humorless chuckle. "You really know how to make a guy feel like shit, you know that?"

I swallowed hard, the weight of everything we'd just said pressing down on me. "Yeah," I muttered, voice hoarse. "I do."

We stood there, the old punching bag swaying slightly behind us, both breathing hard, both staring at the ground like it might have answers. But there were no answers—not for this. Not for what we'd done.

Dean sighed, shaking his head. "I should've fought harder."

"Yeah," I agreed. "You should've."

He nodded slowly, rubbing his hands over his face before letting them fall to his sides. "So what now?"

I shrugged, feeling the exhaustion settle deep in my bones. "Go take her on a date."

Dean blinked, clearly not expecting that answer. "A date?" he repeated, like the word was foreign to him.

"Yeah, Dean," I said, running a hand through my hair. "A date. You know, that thing people do when they actually give a damn about each other?"

He scoffed, shaking his head. "And what? That's supposed to fix everything?"

I crossed my arms. "No. But it's a start."

Dean stared at me for a long moment, his expression shifting between frustration, uncertainty, and something else—something softer. "You really think she'd wanna go on a date with me? After everything?"

I let out a dry laugh. "I think she wants to believe in you, Dean. But you gotta give her a reason to."

He rolled his shoulders, exhaling like he was trying to push the weight of the conversation off his chest. "Yeah. Okay." He nodded, more to himself than to me. "Okay."

"Good." I turned toward the door, but paused, glancing back over my shoulder. "And don't half-ass it. If I hear you took her to some dingy bar for burgers and beer, I will deck you again."

Stepping back into the house, I paused. Sam was sitting at the kitchen table, totally engrossed in his laptop.

I exhaled slowly, debating whether I could make it upstairs without him noticing me. But before I could take another step, Sam's voice cut through the quiet.

"You good?" he asked without looking up, his tone unreadable.

I hesitated, flexing my sore knuckles, "Fine."

Sam's eyes flicked up from the screen, surprised. "Bri- I thought you were Dean."

I rasied a brow, "Sorry, missing a massive ego, a couple inches, and the wrong gender."

A hint of amusement flickered across Sam's face, but it was gone just as fast. He shut his laptop, leaning back in his chair as he studied me. His gaze flicked to my hands, then back to my face.

"You hit him, didn't you."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

Sam sighed, shaking his head. "You do realize that fighting Dean doesn't solve anything, right?"

I corssed my arms, shifting my weight onto my sore leg. "Funny, it actually seemed to get my point across better. Maybe I should try it with you."

Sam's lips twitched, but the amusement didn't quite reach his eyes. "You can try," he said evenly, "but I don't think you've got the energy for another round."

I scoffed, rolling my shoulders despite the ache settling in. "Try me and find out."

Sam sighed, running a hand through his hair. "Bri..." he sounded tired, but there was something else there, too- something cautious, like he was trying to gauge just how close I was to actually throwing a punch.

I tilted my head, stepping closer. "What, Sam? You suddenly got something to say now?"

His jaw tightened. "I always had something to say. You just didn't want to hear it."

That did it. My hands curling into fists at my sides as frustration bubbled back up. "You don't get to say that. Not after everything."

Sam stood up, towering over me, but I didn't back down. "And what about you, huh? You've been walking around like you're the only one who got hurt."

I laughed, but there was no humor in it. "Oh, my bad. I didn't realize you were the one who got pushed out of your own life like you didn't mean a damn thing."

His expression darkened, but instead of arguing, he just nodded. "You're right. I messed up. I let you go when I shouldn't have."

That took the wind out of me. I blinked up at him, caught off guard by the bluntness of it. "What?"

"I should have fought for you." His voice was low, steady, and there was no hesitation in it. "I shouldn't have let you walk away thinking you didn't matter."

I swallowed hard, my throat suddenly tight. "And yet, you did."

Sam exhaled sharply, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Yeah. I did. And I'm sorry, Bri-"

I stared at him, my pulse pounding in my ears. Sorry. Like that was supposed to fix anything. Like a few words could patch up the wreckage he left behind.

I let out a sharp breath, shaking my head. "Sorry doesn't change what happened, Sam."

"I know." His voice was quiet, but firm. "But I need you to know- I never wanted to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing."

I let out a bitter laugh. "Right. Pushing me away. Pretending we were nothing. That's what was best?"

Sam's jaw clenched, and he ran a hand through his hair in frustration again. "I was trying to protect you, Bri. From this life. From me."

I took a step forward, my voice sharp. "I didn't need protection, Sam. I want you. Wanted you."

Sam's eyes softened for a brief moment, but the walls he'd built between us were still standing strong. "I know you did," he murmured, his voice quiet but laced with regret. "And I wanted you, too. God, I wanted you more than anything."

I could feel the tension in the air, thick with all the things we wouldn't say. I took another step forward, my heart pounding in my chest. "Then why didn't you fight for us, Sam. Why didn't you fight for me?" My voice was barely above a whisper, but the words hit like a punch.

He opened his mouth, as if to explain, but nothing came out. The silence stretched between us, suffocating. When he didn't reply, I nodded slightly.

"Maybe one day you'll trust me, Sam." I shook my head, falling back a few steps towards the stairs. "Or maybe I won't be here when that day comes."

His eyes snapped back to me, panic flashing for just a second. "Bri, don't say that. I-"

I glanced over my shoulder, my voice low but firm. "I'm not asking for anything, Sam. Let alone promises you can't keep. I gave you my heart once. I can't do it again."

Silence followed me as I started up the stairs, but his voice carried his words to me.

"You gave me your heart, and I'm keeping it."