The streets were deathly quiet. You moved faster, feet slapping against the wet pavement, the hairs on the back of your neck standing on end. Every instinct told you to run. He was somewhere behind you. You hadn’t seen him, but you felt it. The cold, crawling sensation that warned of danger. The man you had once trusted with your life, the man who had always been there, had become something you didn’t recognize. Something darker. More dangerous. Turning the corner, you stopped dead in your tracks. There he was. Standing perfectly still, the broad frame of his body backlit by the weak streetlight. That blank, emotionless mask covering his face. He didn’t move. Just stood there, waiting. The knife in his hand shined, catching the pale light. Your breath caught in your throat as you took a shaky step back. “Dean… please” There was no response. No sign that he had even heard you. His head tilted ever so slightly, a small gesture, but it sent a cold shiver down your spine. This wasn’t the Dean who’d do anything to protect you, the Dean who’d die before he let anything happen to you. This was Michael. Cold. Silent. Ruthless. He moved toward you, his steps slow. You could hear your heart hammering in your chest, each beat faster than the last. “Dean” You said again, louder this time. “I know you’re in there. Please.” Dean stopped, just a few feet away, his chest rising and falling with slow deep breaths. Then, without a word, his free hand came up to his face. You watched, breathless, as he reached for the mask. The plastic shifted, and he pulled it off. The mask fell to the ground with a dull thud, and finally, you were staring into his eyes. They were the same familiar green you’d known for years, but the warmth was gone. Instead, they were hollow, empty, like something had been stripped from him, leaving nothing but a cold, gaze.