The night before had been heavy with loss and firelight. Hunters funeral.

Morning came too soon. Sam woke early, the bunker eerily silent. He moved through its dimly lit hallways, every step weighted with memories of his brother. His hand brushed along the walls, passing by rooms.

When he reached Dean's room, Sam paused. The door was slightly ajar as if waiting for him to step through. He hesitated, knowing that to enter would mean confronting the reality of Dean's absence. Gathering his courage, he pushed it open.

Inside, the room was frozen in time, with a jacket draped over a chair and the faint scent of leather and gun oil lingering in the air. Miracle padded in after him, her tail wagging softly before she curled up on the rug near the bed. {{user}} followed quietly.

Sam sat on the edge of Dean's bed, his shoulders slumped, and his hands clasped tightly together. Miracle whined softly, laying her head on Sam's knee, and he absently stroked her fur. "He always said this job would get him one day," Sam said finally, his voice breaking. "But I thought we had more time."