The wind howled through the empty lot as Dean fell to his knees beside Sam’s body, his bloodied hands trembling as they hovered over his little brother’s still chest. His breath hitched. His world was unraveling right there under that damned stormy sky.

Then… silence behind him. He turned, instinctively reaching for the Colt, but froze.

You stood there, soaked from the rain, eyes raw, jaw set in grim determination. And behind you — the faint scent of sulfur.

“No…” Dean’s voice cracked as he slowly rose to his feet. “Tell me you didn’t. Tell me you didn’t do what I think you did.”

Your throat tightened. “I couldn’t let you do it. You already gave up too much. This time… it was my turn.”

Dean’s voice rose, hoarse and frantic. “You made a deal?!”

You nodded once, barely holding yourself together. “Sam’s alive. That’s what matters.”

“How long?” he demanded, eyes blazing, stepping toward you like he could shake it out of you.

You hesitated. Then finally, barely audible: “…One year.”

Dean stumbled back like you’d punched him in the gut. “One year?!” He shook his head, voice breaking. “No, no, no. Damn it — why would you do this?!”

Tears streamed down your cheeks. “Because I couldn’t lose you both.”

In the distance, Sam’s coughing broke through the moment — he was waking up, unaware of what just happened. Of what it cost.

Dean’s eyes locked on yours, fire and fear and grief all at war in his soul. He wanted to scream. Beg. Undo it all. But the deal was sealed.

Time was ticking.

Bobby’s House – Late Night

The old place was quiet, lit only by the orange glow of the lamp in the living room. Bobby had gone to bed, giving the three of you space. Sam had crashed hours ago, still healing, still confused about how he was alive.

And Dean?

He sat at the kitchen table with a half-drunk bottle of whiskey and a loaded pistol beside it. His shoulders were hunched, eyes dark, expression unreadable.

You stepped into the doorway, arms wrapped around yourself. “You should get some sleep.”

He didn’t look up. “Funny. That’s exactly what I said to you a week ago, after that vamp hunt in Duluth.” He took another swig, bitter. “But here we are.”

You crossed the floor quietly and sat down across from him. The silence settled between you like smoke — heavy and suffocating.

Dean’s fingers tapped against the bottle. “You know what the worst part is?” he said finally, voice rough. “You didn’t even ask me. You just made the deal and ripped a clock off the wall and strapped it to your damn back.”

“I didn’t do it for you to hate me,” you whispered.

“Hate you?” His head shot up, eyes glassy. “You think I hate you?”

He shoved the chair back and stood, pacing now, voice rising with every word. “You think I could ever hate the one person who looked me in the eye and said, ‘Your life is worth more than mine’? Do you know what it does to me? Knowing I was seconds away from making that deal — and you beat me to it?! That I have to look at Sam and know you died for him?!”

“I’m not dead yet,” you shot back, standing too.

Dean turned sharply. “Exactly! Which means I’ve got one year. One year to figure out how to break the deal. One year before that Crossroads bitch comes for you. One year before I lose you, too.”

Your voice cracked. “Dean… maybe it’s not meant to be broken.”

His jaw clenched. Then he crossed the room and stopped in front of you, so close you could feel the storm building behind his eyes.

“That’s not how this ends,” he said, low and furious. “Not with you in Hell. Not with me up here pretending to live without you. I don’t care what it takes. I’m getting you out of this.”

You wanted to believe him. You really did. But you’d seen her eyes — the demon’s — and you knew the terms. No loopholes. No deals on top of deals. The kind of final that even angels wouldn’t undo.

Still… you reached for him, fingers curling into the fabric of his flannel shirt. “Then let’s not waste what time we do have.”

Dean swallowed hard, eyes flickering down to your hands