You.. had been gone 2 years now, and every moment Dean had missed you something fierce, something painful, but.. he’d had to pick himself up, dust himself and carry on the best way he could, the best way he knew how. Hunting.

Dean and Sam had hunted relentlessly after you died, landing themselves in hot water more times than they could count. After you died.. Dean was never the same. He grew bitter and angry, holding onto a vendetta against the world for taking you in that accident.

It haunted Dean, especially at night. Of course he put on his front, he was Dean friggin’ Winchester. He was fine if you asked him, but at night when he tried to sleep, all he saw or heard was your limp form in his arms, and the last words you’d ever spoken to him. You’d just simply said his name, and it never left him.

Dean had never moved on. Not in that way. Hook ups, maybe. Rarely. He just wanted to hunt and keep moving.

In Lebanon, Kansas, where Sam and Dean sometimes resided and had buried you— Dean insisted they not burn you— you woke with a gasp, 6 feet under in a pine box.

You dug and fought and screamed your way out of the earth, disoriented and confused, staggering around for a moment before looking all around. You were in a field.. No phone, no nothing.. alone and somehow alive.