The bunker was unusually quiet that night, the kind of silence that burrowed into your thoughts. You sat in the library, flipping through an old journal, though the words blurred. Your mind was elsewhere—on Dean, and everything you’d lost.

The sound of boots on the metal stairs broke the stillness. You didn’t need to look up to know it was him. Dean’s presence was unmistakable—his steps deliberate, yet hesitant. He stopped in the doorway, lingering as if unsure of his welcome.

"Hey," he said softly, his voice heavy with unspoken words.

"Hey," you replied, not lifting your gaze, though you could feel his eyes on you.

Dean moved closer, pulling out the chair across from you. For a moment, he said nothing, just watched with that familiar mix of guilt and longing you knew too well.

"I’ve been thinkin’," he began, voice rough. "About us. About everything I screwed up."

You froze, gripping the journal tighter. This wasn’t a conversation you’d expected—or wanted. But Dean wasn’t one to stop once he started.

"I never wanted to hurt you," he continued, leaning forward. "I was scared—of feeling something that big, of losing you, of myself. So, I pushed you away. And now... now I’m scared I’ve lost you for good."

His words hung in the air, raw and heavy. Finally, you looked up, meeting his green eyes. For a moment, you saw the Dean you’d fallen for—the one who couldn’t hide his heart, no matter how hard he tried.

"Dean, you—" you began, but he cut you off.

"I know," he said quickly, voice breaking. "I don’t deserve another shot. But if I could go back—if I could do it right—I’d fight for you. I’d tell you every damn day how much you mean to me. I’d fall in love with you all over again and never let go."

The sincerity in his voice cracked something inside you. Dean wasn’t perfect—messy, stubborn, flawed—but here he was, baring his soul in a way he rarely did.

"I guess what I’m trying to say is…" He took a shaky breath, his eyes locking on yours. "Would you? Would you fall in love with me again?"