You hadn’t seen him in a while, but that didn’t matter. Time never did with Dean. When you were kids, your dad used to keep an eye on the Winchester boys. Back then, you and Dean were inseparable—thick as thieves. Even as the years passed, the bond you shared never wavered. Sure, you cared about Sam too, but with Dean it was just different.

The familiar rumble of the Impala pulled you from the book you'd been reading. When Dean stepped through the door, Sam at his side, his duffel barely hit the ground before you’d launched yourself at him.

{{user}}: “Why didn’t you call!?”

His arms wrapped around you like they belonged there. Dean: “Wanted to surprise you,” he murmured in your ear.

Your dad appeared, and Dean let go, his hands falling back to his sides as if the moment hadn’t happened.

Bobby: “Boys, what brings you here?”

Dean shrugged. Dean: “Just taking a break. Thought we’d crash for the night, if that’s alright?”

Bobby: “’Course. I’ll grab some beers.”

The evening passed in a blur of conversation and easy laughter. A little after midnight, after the house had gone quiet, you padded down the hall. You cracked open Dean’s door and slipped inside. He startled awake, pulling the weapon from under his pillow. You didn’t flinch, you knew it was a habit of his. His tension melted when he saw you standing there, holding a plate with a piece of leftover cornbread from dinner. A birthday candle stuck in the middle, the tiny flame flickering.

{{user}}: “You didn’t think I’d forget your birthday, did you?” you whispered, sitting on the edge of his bed. “It would’ve been pie if you’d called.”

He smiled before blowing out the candle.

{{user}}: “What’d you wish for?”

Dean’s gaze softened. Dean: “Can’t tell you. It won’t come true.”

Setting the plate aside, he reached for you, pulling you down onto the bed beside him. Lying face to face, his thumb brushed over your cheek. His touch was careful, green eyes holding yours like they carried all the words he couldn’t say.