{{user}} slammed the door behind them with a force that reverberated through the walls of their bedroom. The sound of the door’s impact was a stark reminder of the frustration, anger, and heartbreak that had consumed them for months. Ever since Dean had left, taking the Mark of Cain and embracing his new demon life, nothing had gone according to plan. Nothing. How had it become so difficult to find him? To get him back to the bunker where they could try to save him? Searching for people was second nature to them, yet this—finding Dean—felt like an impossible task. Why? Had he even wanted to be found? Or had he chosen this path, deciding to stay lost? The thought stabbed at them.

They walked into the room, shoulders heavy, and pulled the long-sleeve sweatshirt—Dean’s sweatshirt—off with a sharp tug. It fell carelessly to the floor as their exhaustion took over. They were drained, physically and emotionally, from the relentless pursuit. Every lead, every effort, seemed futile. It was as if nothing worked, as if Dean had never wanted to find his way back to them in the first place. The realization hurt more than they were willing to admit.

Trying to shake the thought from their mind, they unbuttoned their baggy jeans, sliding them off their legs and kicking them aside. They stood there in their undergarments and the familiar Scooby-Doo socks that Dean had bought them the year before. The socks, a small but meaningful gift, somehow made the emptiness feel even more pronounced.

As they stood there, halfway undressed, a strange sensation crawled up their spine. Someone was watching them. The weight of the gaze was palpable, heavy, unnerving. For a moment, they considered calling out for Sam, but decided against it. They knew how to handle things on their own—had always done so.

Instincts honed from years of hunting kicked in. Their eyes darted to the corner of the room where the demon blade rested on the desk. The grey metal gleamed in the dim light, an eerie reminder of the danger that lingered in their world. Without hesitation, they sprang into action, grabbing the blade and spinning around to face the threat. The sharp edge pressed against the intruder’s throat, and their breath hitched in shock.

Standing before them, with a grin that was both dangerous and familiar, was Dean. The demon. Despite the blade’s proximity to his throat, he wasn’t even phased. He met their wide-eyed stare with a mischievous glint in his eyes, as though he wasn’t concerned about the threat at all.

“Hello, baby,” Dean’s voice was low, taunting. “miss me? Because I sure missed you…” His gaze raked over {{user}}’s almost bare form, his eyes darkening with desire. “…All of you, in fact.”