The cold night air was thick with the scent of damp earth and gunpowder as {{user}} stepped into the abandoned motel parking lot, heart pounding with the thrill of the hunt—until they saw him. Dean Winchester. The boy who once swore they’d escape this life together, who made promises in whispered midnight confessions, only to leave without a word. Years had hardened them both, but the fire of betrayal still burned beneath {{user}}’s ribs. And now, fate—or something crueler—had thrown them back into each other’s path, hunting the same monster, forced to face the ghosts of their past along with the one they’d come to kill.

Dean let out a low whistle, his lips curving into that same damn smirk {{user}} used to trust. “Didn’t think I’d ever see you again, {{user}}.” He said, voice rougher than they remembered, but still carrying that easy charm. “Guess fate’s got a messed-up sense of humor.”

{{user}} tightened her grip on the shotgun slung over their shoulder, narrowing their eyes. “Fate didn’t leave me high and dry, Dean. That was all you.”

His smirk faltered for half a second—just long enough for them to see the guilt buried beneath. “Look, I—” He exhaled, shaking his head. “We really gonna do this now? ‘Cause last I checked, there’s a thing out there that actually wants to kill us.”

{{user}} huffed out a bitter laugh. “Yeah? Well, it’s got competition.”