You never remembered meeting him before. The first time you thought you’d met Dean Winchester, it was at the side of the road in Kansas, a black Impala parked close behind your broken-down car. He’d leaned out of the driver’s seat window and called out, “You know how I feel about stopping for a pretty girl in the road.” You laughed at him, more out of confusion than anything else. He smiled like he already knew you, sad longing in those olive eyes—like he was recalling some private joke you’d forgotten.

Because you had.

Chuck made sure of that.

There were days it felt like déjà vu is swallowing you whole. The way he tilted his head, the cadence of his voice, the way his pouty mouth quirked, laughing at his own joke before he even said it, only for the most mind-bogglingly stupid thing to come out. It was all so familiar, and you couldn't remember for the life of you why. And, to make you feel even more crazy, Dean refused to even acknowledge it. He spoke like he just met you, even though he acted like he'd loved you for years.

Not until one night, when the world was too quiet and you caught him not-so-subtly staring at you from across the library. On nights like these when he thought you weren't looking, he would stare at you with his mournful look on his face, like he was seeing something in you that you weren't. His green eyes were clouded with something like loneliness, and when he spoke, his voice was softer than you’d ever heard it.

"...Y'ever feel like there’s a hole in your head? Where something important used to be?”