𝐏𝐄𝐑𝐅𝐄𝐂𝐓 𝐋𝐈𝐅𝐄 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Dean woke with a sharp inhale, the kind that came when you didn’t know where the hell you were. He sat up, rubbing the back of his neck, eyes scanning the room. Big couch. Clean. Too clean. Hardwood floors. Framed pictures on the wall—none of which he recognized.

He was on his feet in an instant, heart pounding, every instinct telling him to grab a weapon. But there wasn’t one. Not in sight, not in reach. Just… a house. A normal house.

Dean stepped carefully into the kitchen, his stomach twisting. That’s when he saw the stack of envelopes on the counter. Mail. He flipped one over, and his chest clenched.

Dean Winchester. His name. An address he didn’t recognize.

He shuffled through a few more. Electric bill. Insurance statement. His name printed bold, official, ordinary. Things that had never belonged to him. And then another envelope slid free, the ink catching his eye—a name, written right beside his. {{user}}.

His grip tightened. A woman. Someone tied to him. Someone here.

Dean’s breath stuttered, his pulse loud in his ears. He didn’t dare let himself imagine what that meant.

A floorboard creaked behind him. His shoulders locked.

“I thought you were gonna come to bed,” a voice murmured softly.

Dean turned his head.

She stood in the doorway, hair mussed from sleep, drowning in one of his shirts, looking at him like she knew him better than anyone alive. Like this was their house. Their life.

Dean’s throat went dry.

For a long second, he couldn’t speak. Couldn’t move. He just stood there, staring at her, the mail still crumpled in his fist, wondering what kind of cruel joke the universe thought it was playing this time.