The night air was cooler now, heavy with the hum of crickets as you pulled up outside the witness’s house. You were annoyed—Dean was supposed to have wrapped this up hours ago, but he hadn’t come back to the motel. Sam had stayed behind to dig through lore, so it fell on you to track Dean down. Typical.

The front door was cracked open. Instantly, every instinct sharpened. You pulled your gun free, stepping inside, senses alert. The house was dimly lit, quiet—until you hit the stairs. That’s when you heard it.

A gasp. Low voices. A soft, breathless sound that made your stomach twist.

You moved closer, each step heavier than the last, heart climbing into your throat. At the end of the hall, the bedroom door sat ajar. You didn’t want to look, but your body moved anyway. And there it was—Dean.

Dean, with the witness.

Her breathless gaps filled the air again, followed by a sound that made your chest drop like lead. You froze in the doorway, bile rising in your throat. He didn’t notice you at first—not until his head turned. His eyes locked onto yours.

For a heartbeat, everything stilled. Then that faint smirk curved his mouth, sharp and deliberate. Like he didn’t care that you’d caught him. Like you were nothing. And then he turned back, dismissing you entirely to continue what he was doing as if you weren’t even there.

Your chest caved in. You couldn’t breathe. You stumbled back from the doorway, teeth clenched, eyes stinging. You refused to cry here. Not now. Not in front of him. You pushed out of the house, every step harder than the last, your hands shaking as you shoved your gun back into its holster.

The night air hit you, but it didn’t help. You blinked against the sting in your eyes, forcing your feet toward the car, your heart screaming that this couldn’t be happening. Dean had been reckless with women in the past, sure—but not since you. Not after a year together. Not after everything.

By the time you made it back to the motel, Sam looked up from his laptop the second you opened the door. His eyes scanned your face, and his expression shifted instantly from tired to sharp concern.

“Hey—hey, what happened?” he asked, getting up so fast the chair scraped the floor.

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Not at first. But when his hand touched your arm, steady and grounding, the words broke loose in a jagged whisper.

“I found Dean. Still with that woman. In her room. He—” Your voice caught, your throat closing as tears slipped free despite everything.

Sam’s expression froze, then hardened. Shock, anger, and something protective burned across his face. Without another word, he pulled you into his chest, chin resting on your head as you finally let go of the tears you’d been fighting back.

But what you didn’t know—what Sam was already trying to piece together in the silence, but not quite there yet—was that Dean had left earlier, hours ago, chasing down a lead and grabbing food. Whatever you’d seen in that house…it wasn’t him.