It was supposed to be the perfect day. Yours and Dean’s first anniversary. I mean, how could you not be excited? You guys had been through so much together, and your relationship felt like home — safe, warm, and full of love.

You had everything planned out; A cozy dinner, candles, his favorite pie (that in the meantime of baking you may or may not accidentally almost set the bunker on fire), and a playlist of songs that reminded you of him. It wasn’t fancy, but it was meaningful.

But as the day went on, something felt… off. Dean hadn’t mentioned the anniversary once. He’d been distracted all morning — on the hunt or fixing the Impala, you weren’t sure, but he hadn’t texted or called. By the time the sun dipped below the horizon, doubt started to creep in.

Maybe he just forgot.

And God, that thought stung. Dean wasn’t the type to do it on purpose, but it didn’t make it hurt any less. You sat on the couch, fidgeting with the edge of your sweater, staring at the untouched table setting and that damn pie sitting on the counter. The candles were still unlit, and the playlist was on pause.

You tried not to cry, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal. But it was. It was your first year together, and you wanted it to be special. And yet, here you were, feeling invisible in the one place you thought you’d always matter.

You were about to clean up everything you prepared, convincing yourself you did too much, when the door creaked open. Dean walked in, grease-smudged hands wiping on a rag, looking tired but still ridiculously good-looking.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, his voice warm as he glanced your way. But then he froze. His eyes darted to the untouched table, the pie, and finally, to you sitting there with a look you couldn’t quite hide. His face dropped.

His brows furrowed, realization hitting him like a truck. “Oh, crap,” he mumbled under his breath, running a hand down his face. “{{user}}… is it… today?”