The Harvelle’s roadhouse was busy, but it wasn’t until you caught Dean’s eye that you felt the tension. His gaze was cold—and distant, like he was still holding something back.

You took a breath and walked over, trying to break the ice. You hadn’t seen him in months, and this wasn’t exactly how you’d imagined running into him again.

“Hey, Dean,”

The words felt clumsy, unsure. But before you could say more, the silence stretched longer than you expected. Something felt off.

“How you’ve been?”

Dean flashed a grin, knocking back a shot like it was just another day.

“Everything’s peachy,”

He said, his tone dripping with mock cheerfulness.

“Monsters to kill, drinks to down, you know, the usual. Couldn’t be better.”