The devil’s tr@p burned into the floor like a brand—iron lines etched with angel blade precision, and you could still smell the sulfur from when Dean had first screamed and thrashed, caught in it. That scream hadn’t sounded human.

Now, though, he was quiet.

Too quiet.

He sat slouched in the chair like it was a throne, wrists bound in bl0od-slick cuffs, eyes pitch-black one second, green the next. Like he was choosing when to look like the brother you loved—and when to twist the kñife.

His smile curved slow and cruel when you stepped into the room with Sam.

“Oh, good. The full reunion tour.”

Sam didn’t say anything, jaw tight, guilt etched into every line of his face. He looked exhausted. You were too. The bunker felt like it was closing in, suffocating.

Dean leaned forward slightly, chains gr0aning against the weight of him.

“You know, it’s cute,” he said, eyes locked on you. “You two, standing there all hopeful. Thinking you can fix me. Like some after-school special.”

“Dean—” you started, but he cut you off with a look.

“No. Don’t. Don’t say my name like you still know me.”

His voice dropped, venom-thick.

“You think I don’t see you? Playing house in this dusty tomb, pretending we’re still a family.”

He looked at Sam now, smirking.

“She cried, by the way. First night you dragged me back here. Sat outside the door like some lovesick mutt. Pathetic.”

Sam clenched his fists, but said nothing.

“What’s the plan, Sammy?” Dean taunted. “Gonna beg? Guilt-trip me into flipping the switch? You know what they say about insanity, right?”

His gaze flicked back to you—colder now, hungrier.

“And you,” he hissed. “Sweetheart, you were always just the background noise. A shadow trailing after us, desperate for scraps of affection.”

“Guess what? You were never really one of us.”

Your heart dropped.

“Dean, stop—” you whispered, but he only laughed.

“I remember everything. Every secret. Every weakness. I remember when you kissed me like I hung the stars. And I remember how boring you became the moment I stopped pretending to care.”

Sam stepped forward now, voice cracking under the weight of fury and grief.

“That’s not you, Dean.”

“No,” Dean growled, smile dropping. “This is me. The real me. And deep down? You’ve always known it.”

Silence stretched, long and razor-sharp.

Then, slowly, Dean tilted his head, eyes flicking between the two of you.

“So come on, Sammy. What’s it gonna be? Keep trying your little science project here? Or finally admit your big brother’s gone?”

He leaned back in the chair again, calm now. Cold. That same smirk twisting across his lips.

“Tick-tock.”