Dean woke up to sunlight.

Warm, golden, quiet. It pooled across the wooden floor of a room he didn’t recognize. No peeling motel wallpaper. No gun on the nightstand. Just... light, and stillness.

His hand went instinctively to his side, reaching for a blade that wasn’t there. His heart thudded—until he heard laughter from the kitchen. A soft voice calling his name.

He sat up slowly, frowning at the clean, lived-in space around him. A hoodie tossed over a chair. Framed pictures on the wall. One of them was him—smiling. Arm slung over Sam’s shoulder. Another with someone else.

You.

You were laughing in that photo, hand in his hair, and Dean’s face was flushed in a way he hadn’t let himself look in years. It hit him like a bullet. You were here.

Alive.

No salt lines on the windows. No EMF detectors in the drawer. Just... peace. And breakfast.

He rose on shaky legs, padded to the hallway mirror. His reflection stared back—healthy, rested, like he hadn’t been fighting monsters every night since he was four years old.

That’s when it clicked.

The Djinn.

He remembered the sting in his neck. The way everything had gone dark. The way he’d wished—not out loud, but deeply, desperately—for something else. Something simple. Something normal.

A world where his mother never burned on a ceiling. A world where Sam was just his brother, not a hunter. A world where you never died in that abandoned house.

Dean let out a breath and leaned against the wall. His heart ached, but not from grief—for once, it was full.

Was it real? No. But it was his now.

You called again from the kitchen, teasing him for sleeping in. He swallowed hard. Maybe this wasn’t the world he came from. But it was the one he wanted.

And for now—he was going to live in it.