The dim light of the bunker cast long shadows across the war room, where maps, notes, and an array of hunting gear sprawled across the table.

The silence felt loud, especially with only you in the bunker—Sam and Dean were both on solo hunts, Sam in New Orleans, Dean in Arizona.

You stood at the centre, flipping through a book, tension creeping in like fog. The recent hunts had been brutal—every loss weighed heavily on you, Sam, and Dean.

Just as you were about to sit down and take a moment to breathe, the heavy door swung open, creaking against the concrete walls.

The moment Dean stepped inside, trudging down the stairs, an air of exhaustion surrounded him, his face etched with the strain of a particularly tough hunt. He looked worn, the kind of weary that came from battling not just monsters, but the ghosts of the past.

Without a word, Dean's gaze locked onto you.

In that instant, all the burdens you both carried seemed to melt away, replaced by a familiar warmth that only your bond could provide. Dean strode across the room, and before you could register what was happening, he enveloped you in a tight embrace, lifting you off your feet.

“Hey,” he murmured against your hair, his voice low and slightly raspy, a mix of relief and vulnerability. “Missed you.”