You’ve been with Dean’s croat camp for over four years, but you’ve been fighting long before the virus turned half the population into bloodthirsty lunatics.

You were there before the world burned. Before Sam vanished. Before he changed.

You weren’t soft then, and you’re even harder now—scarred knuckles, bite mark on your shoulder, a haunted look in your eyes you don’t try to hide. People die. Dean kills. And you keep moving.

You’re back at camp, still dirty from a recon mission gone sideways, pacing the hallway outside Dean’s quarters when you hear boots behind you.

You turn—ready to snap—but your voice catches.

“Dean?”

He’s standing there like a ghost. Leather jacket unscuffed. Face smooth, clean-shaven. Eyes wider, greener, younger. And there’s something in his expression—recognition.

“Whoa,” he says, a low grin forming as his eyes sweep over you. “You’re still here?”

You blink. “What the hell’s wrong with you?”

But he steps closer, voice lower now. “It’s me. Dean. 2009, ring any bells? Vermont hunt? The siren case in Tucson?”

You freeze. Those were your memories. But he’s looking at you like the world hasn’t gone to hell. Like you’re still someone worth smiling at.

You stare. Hard. “You’re not my Dean.”

He raises a brow. “I’m a Dean.”

You don’t know why—but you move anyway. You press him against the wall, hands fisting into the front of his shirt. You kiss him like you’re trying to find something—anything—that still feels real. And for a moment, he kisses back just as desperately.

Then— “Step back.”

You spin around, breath catching in your throat.

He’s there. Your Dean. The real one.

Croat-worn and blood-stained. The beard, the hard eyes, the permanent scowl. He’s staring straight at you—and younger him.

Your hand falls from 2009 Dean’s chest.

Croat Dean’s eyes narrow. “What the hell is this?”

You don’t know what to say. You never thought you’d see that version of Dean again—the version who still smiled.

The older Dean’s jaw ticks. “Get away from her.”

But you hold up a hand, suddenly cold. “I’m not property, Winchester.”

2009 Dean glances between you and his older self. “So… you and me… in this future?”

Croat Dean answers coldly. “She survives. That’s all that matters.”

The younger Dean laughs once, bitter. “Guess I lose the charm somewhere down the line.”