Back then, Dean Winchester was seventeen and stuck in Kansas, running small hunts in nearby towns while keeping a constant eye on his little brother. John was gone more often than not, chasing bigger things, leaving Dean to play parent, hunter, and screw-up teenager all at once.

That’s where you came in.

You met him by accident — a diner, late evening, the kind of place hunters blended into without trying. One conversation turned into a second meeting. Then another. Soon, Dean was sneaking out after putting Sam to bed, showing up at your house with that familiar grin, bruises he never explained, and a laugh that made everything feel normal.

You fell in love quietly. Carefully. Like people who knew nothing in their lives was permanent.

Dean never told his dad. He couldn’t. You were the one thing that felt like it belonged to him, not the life John forced on him. For a while, it worked. You were happy. Really happy.

Then one night, Dean showed up at your door looking wrecked.

He didn’t come inside. Didn’t smile. Didn’t joke.

He told you he was leaving. Moving far away. No details. No explanation. Just a tight jaw, shaking hands, and eyes that refused to meet yours. You begged for a reason. He gave you none — only a quiet apology and a promise he clearly didn’t believe in himself.

It broke both of you.

⸻

Now — nine years later.

Dean is twenty-six, back on the road, back in another nowhere town. A witch case. Missing people. Bad vibes. He and Sam are dressed in FBI suits, badges fake, confidence real.

They’ve been knocking on doors all morning.

When Dean steps up to the next house, something in his chest tightens — sharp and sudden, like his body knows before his brain catches up. The air feels… wrong. Heavy.

Sam knocks. The door opens.

And it’s you.

For half a second, the world tilts.

You look older. Different. Stronger. But it’s unmistakable. Dean doesn’t move. Doesn’t breathe. His eyes lock onto yours, and every mile, every year, every word he never said crashes back all at once.

Sam doesn’t notice right away. He gives the practiced smile, flashes the badge, and delivers the line like he’s done a thousand times before.

“Hi, ma’am. We’re FBI. We were hoping to ask you a few questions.”

Dean is still staring at you.

Because he knows — this hunt just became personal.