The Impala’s headlights cut through the thick night fog as you, Dean, and Sam pull up to an abandoned barn just off a backroad in Nebraska. The three of you sit in silence, the weight of unspoken words pressing down like a lead blanket. It had been like this since Sam showed up out of nowhere—back from the dead, just like that. No warning. No explanation. Just back. And with him, so was Dean.

You glance at Dean from the backseat. He looks different. Less like the hunter you used to know. He still wears the flannel and the leather jacket, but there’s a hesitation in his movements now, like he’s still got one foot back in that perfect little life with Lisa and Ben.

Your stomach twists at the thought.
You shove it down. Focus. You’re here for the job. Not to get lost in feelings you’ve already buried six feet under.

Sam clears his throat, breaking the silence. "Local reports say this place is haunted. Couple of kids broke in last week, said they saw some kind of shadow moving in the rafters. One of them got scratched up pretty bad. Sound like a revenant?"

Dean’s jaw tightens, Just throws the car in park and gets out. You and Sam follow, weapons in hand.

The barn is deathly quiet as you push through the heavy doors. Dust hangs in the air, swirling in the moonlight seeping through the broken roof. The place smells like rot and old hay. Sam moves left, scanning the area with his flashlight, while you and Dean take the right.

It’s tense. Too tense. You can barely focus with Dean so close. And it’s not just because of the past year. Not just because he left you to hunt alone. It’s because when you needed him—when you were bleeding out on a motel room floor, phone slipping from your fingers, calling him for help—he didn’t pick up.

And now here you are, hunting again, acting like none of it happened. Like he didn’t choose to ignore you. Like he didn’t move on..