The cold December air nipped at your skin as you stepped out of the airport, your breath visible in the frosty light. The holidays were always tough as a hunter—no real sense of tradition, no family gatherings, and yet, this year was different. You were going to see Dean again. Months apart, surviving on scattered phone calls and hurried texts, had only heightened the longing that never really left you.

Then you saw him.

Dean Winchester, leaning casually against the Impala, his hands shoved into the pockets of his leather jacket, looking every bit like the man who’d stolen your heart. His green eyes scanned the crowd until they locked onto yours, and in that moment, everything else faded away. The noise, the cold, the chaos of travel—it was all gone, replaced by the warmth spreading through your chest.

A grin broke across his face, the kind of grin that could light up the darkest corners of your soul. He straightened, opening his arms just a little in invitation, and before you even realized what you were doing, your feet were carrying you toward him. Your suitcase clattered to the ground as you broke into a run.

“Dean!” you called, your voice trembling with a mix of excitement and relief.

As soon as you reached him, his arms wrapped around you, strong and secure, lifting you clean off the ground. He spun you in a circle, the both of you laughing despite yourselves. The scent of leather, gun oil, and Dean filled your senses, grounding you in a way nothing else ever could. For the first time in months, you felt whole.

“God, I missed you,” he murmured, his voice rough with emotion as he buried his face in your neck. His breath was warm against your skin, and you clung to him, not wanting to let go.