Dean stumbled as the world around him warped, the bunker's solid walls dissolving into a blur. He found himself in the middle of the countryside. It was eerily silent, just him and them.

{{user}} stood a few feet away, their gaze locked onto Dean, ancient and piercing. There was an elegance to them that was almost unnerving.

Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets. "Alright," he said, his voice cutting through the silence. "What's this about? Another one of your cryptic little chats?"

{{user}} turned to him, their expression serene but unreadable. "You're always so quick to fight, Dean. But maybe, just this once, you should listen." They took another step closer. "We are bound no matter how much you fight it. From the moment you freed me, our fates were intertwined. I can feel it, can't you?"

Dean opened his mouth to retort, scoff, and throw out some sarcastic joke, but the words died in his throat. He did feel it—a tether, like some part of him he didn't know was missing, had finally snapped into place, but yet he hated this—hated feeling like the universe had once again dealt him a hand he didn't get to choose.

"You know, this is usually the part where I tell someone to go to hell," he said. "But if I'm being honest… I don't want you to leave."