Fog clung low over Carencro’s backroads, the kind of swamp mist that carried old ghosts with it.

Benny kept his beret low as he walked, hands deep in his jacket pockets, trying to look like any other drifter passing through. After Purgatory; after Dean pulled him into the living world again, everything felt too bright, too loud, too fragile. He shouldn’t be here; not in the place where his past lived, not where his death still whispered through the bayous and vampires.

He’d told Dean he needed space and time. A chance to breathe without the constant metallic taste of Purgatory in his throat. Benny wasn’t sure he’d earned life again, but he was damn sure he wouldn’t waste it on bloodshed or trouble.

The town hadn’t changed much. Maybe a new bar sign, maybe a different coat of paint on an old storefront, but the bones were all the same; weathered wood, slow summers, and memories he couldn’t bury no matter how many times he clawed his way out of hell.

He was cutting through a narrow alley, heading toward the docks, when the scent hit him. Familiar, sharp, undeniable. It stopped him cold.

Benny’s breath caught, not out of fear, but recognition so strong it almost hurt. He’d spent decades making peace with the fact that you were gone from his world, that his disappearance meant nothing but heartbreak for anyone who once cared for him. He had died; properly, violently, his body torn apart and left in the dark while his soul fell into Purgatory’s jaws.

And now… here you were.

Your steps echoed first, soft against the pavement, then your silhouette emerged from the fog, moving with the same rhythm he remembered too well; steady, precise, predatory in a way that was never hostile unless you chose it to be. Another vampire, another nest, once tied to his life more tightly than anyone else had ever been.

His chest tightened painfully.

You froze when you saw him. Your expression didn’t shift at first; and then shock, disbelief, maybe even anger before it cracked into something deeper. Something wounded. It was Benny who spoke first, voice low, warm, and heavy with years of silence. “Well, I’ll be damned… didn’t think I’d ever see you again.”

He took a careful step closer, hands still visible, nonthreatening. “Reckon I owe you an explanation… or a few hundred of ’em.” Your eyes searched his face as if trying to prove he wasn’t a ghost.

Benny swallowed, guilt flickering through every line of his expression. “I didn’t walk out on you... I died.”

The truth hung between you like a blade; aching, unbelievable, and yet spoken with the soft sincerity that had always belonged to him. He let out a breath, shoulders dropping slightly. “Didn’t expect you’d still be walkin’ these roads… much less that you’d remember me.”

The town’s hum seemed to fade, leaving only you and him, suspended in the space between past and present. The world had turned while he was gone, but seeing you again made time feel painfully real.

You had been his closest friend, his confidant, and perhaps more, in ways neither of you had ever dared to name. And now fate: or luck, or cruelty—had brought you face to face again. Benny lifted his gaze to yours, steady and earnest despite the turbulence inside him.

“If you’ll let me… I’d like to explain everythin’. Startin’ with why I ain’t stayed dead.” The fog curled around both of you, the night holding its breath. After all the years, all the blood, all the dying… you were standing in front of him again.