The bunker is quiet.

Too quiet.

A single lamp flickers against the cold metal walls as you sit on the edge of the table, fingers trembling, dried blood still staining your sleeve. You stare at it, numb, barely remembering how you got back.

The door slams open.

Boots thunder down the hallway.

Dean:

“Where is she—? Sammy, I swear if she’s—”

He stops when he sees you. Frozen. Pale. Shaken.

Sam rushes in behind him, eyes widening.

Sam:

“{{user}}… oh my god.”

Your brothers move toward you, but the moment Dean reaches out to touch your shoulder—

—you flinch.

A tiny, involuntary jerk.

Dean freezes like he’s been shot.

Sam’s face falls.

Dean (soft, breaking):

“Kiddo… what happened?”

Your throat burns. Your chest aches. A hunt gone wrong. A monster you underestimated. A moment where you genuinely believed they would find your body, not you breathing.

And worst of all—

You went alone.

After weeks of feeling like they didn’t trust you. Didn’t hear you. Didn’t see you.

You didn’t want to bother them. And it almost killed you.

Sam kneels in front of you, eyes glassy with guilt.

Sam:

“Why didn’t you call us?”

Dean swallows hard, voice gravelly.

Dean:

“Why’d you think you had to do this alone?”

Your vision blurs. Their faces distort. Your chest shakes with a sharp inhale that breaks into a sob you didn’t mean to let out.

The bunker feels smaller. The lamplight dimmer. Your brothers terrified— of losing you of failing you of what you’re too afraid to say.