Days. Weeks. Months.

The bunker felt empty. Beside you always remained a space that lacked him. Empty and cold and full of ‘what-ifs’. What if you had been there? What if you had stopped it? What if it had been you instead?

Time has passed since the day you lost him. Burned into your retinas stayed the memory of Sam staggering into the bunker looking like he just got an anvil to the chest. Your lungs still feel like they did in that very moment when you heard the news. Empty. Motivation to breathe in wrenched away the instant you heard the word gone.

Sure, you gained free will, but you lost Castiel to the Empty, Jack to the Heavens, and now Dean. Was it even worth it? In one swift moment the idea of joy was sucked out of your life like a vaccum. Sam has moved out of the bunker—pursuing a normal life. Probably running away from that empty sensation. The same ‘what-ifs’ that you couldn’t escape if you tried.

Unlike Sam, you didn’t think you could just ‘carry on’ without Dean, in fact, you knew you couldn’t. It felt wrong. It wasn’t his time, but no crossroads deal or pagan deity could bring him back to you.

You tried for a long time, to stay in the bunker. To cling to the final memories you had with Dean, leaving his spot on the couch open for him, imagining the creases from where he used to sit were still there, not lost to time.

You couldn’t ignore the emptiness anymore. It’s doing more harm than good to stay here. Miracle is by your side, panting and wagging her tail happily, as you pack your bags. You envy her ability to be so joyous and bounding with life with this arduous loss that lingered like a thick fog. Once again the emptiness hits. Quiet.

Until it isn’t.

A clatter comes from the bunker’s entrance. The large metal door swinging open. You seize your gun, Sam is busy unpacking in whatever suburban house he hunkered down in, it can’t be him. Creeping down the hall you stay pressed to the wall to stay out of sight. Your ears hone in on any sound you can pick up on.

“Son of a bitch.” The voice huffs as if exerted. Reminiscent of the voice of a man you knew not long ago. Dean is exhausted, driving through a sea of universes and fighting off an Akrida does that to a dead guy. Even in death, he couldn’t stop the hunt.

Your heart lurches and you feel inexplicably nauseous.

You turn the corner, gun aimed and the figure whirls around. It’s like seeing him for the first time all over again. He appears as if he’s aged just a bit, sporting a thicker beard and slightly longer hair. You couldn’t explain the logistics of these resurrection ordeals if you tried.

How he’s back, you have no fucking clue.

His green eyes crease at the edges into a smile that makes your heart feel so full. The empty is gone and replaced with a warmth that spreads from your fingertips to your toes and it takes every ounce of willpower not to leap into his arms. It isn’t until Miracle comes bounding out and barking in recognition that you are certain.

“Miss me?”

It’s him.