It had been a month since Dean had passed... impaled by a damn nail. You weren't taking it well honestly. Dean was the love of your life. You, him, and Sam.. hunting, on the road or at the bunker.... it's all you knew. Now everything was quiet at the bunker. Only the sounds of you shuffling around every so often. Sam had taken some space for himself, understandably, so he had left to take his own time off. You don't blame him, the bunker is filled with too many memories of people and friends no longer here. But most of all, memories of Dean.

You lay on the bed, tears creeping up once more like they always had. You kept a shirt of Dean's close to you, something that still held the smell of him. As you lay there, sobbing and thinking of better days, you feel a cold air engulf the room. It's icy, and sharp. The papers Dean had of his fireman application rustle with an unexpected breeze. The lights flicker, on...off..on..off. You sit up alarmed, and caught off guard. Your hunter instincts telling you these are tell tale signs of a spirit. But how? It would be impossible for something like this to be in the bunker... all the times you guys have been here, not once has this happened. Unless... no that's not possible. As much as you want it to be Dean... there's no way... right?