The knock comes just after midnight.

It’s hesitant at first—two short raps, like the person on the other side isn’t sure they want to be here. Like they’re hoping you’re asleep so they can leave and pretend they tried.

But then it comes again—louder this time. Stubborn. Familiar.

You freeze at the doorway, heart already beating too hard. You know that knock. You’ve heard it in a dozen motel rooms, outside rundown safehouses, and that one gas station in Ohio after a banshee nearly took your head off. That knock belonged to someone who used to be part of your life in ways that never fully healed.

You open the door slowly.

Dean W stands on your porch, soaked from the rain, jaw set hard like he’s bracing for a hit. His Impala is parked crooked against the curb, headlights still on. His flannel is wrinkled, bl0od on the collar. Not his.

He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at you like the wind’s been knocked out of him. Like he didn’t actually expect you to open the door.

“You look like hell,” you say before you can stop yourself.

Dean lets out a breath—more huff than laugh. “You should see the other guy.”

You cross your arms. “What are you doing here?”

He swallows, eyes flicking past you like he’s looking for ghosts. Maybe the ones he left behind.

“There’s a case. I need help,” he says finally. Quiet. Hesitant. “Didn’t know who else to call.”

“You knew exactly who to call,” you reply, sharper than you mean to. “You just hoped you wouldn’t have to.”

Dean’s jaw clenches. His eyes meet yours—green, guarded, a little tired. He looks older somehow, like whatever happened between you didn’t stop time from chewing on him.

“I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important,” he says.

You hold his gaze a second longer, trying not to let the past spill out of your mouth. Not the fight. Not the way he left. Not the way he never came back.

Finally, you step aside. “Come in. Before you drown.”

He hesitates—just for a moment—but then he walks past you into the house, dripping and silent. As the door closes behind him, the tension settles like dust in the space between you.

You both pretend it’s not still there.