The day Dean Winchester walked back into your life, you weren’t ready.

The bunker doors groan open — an echo that feels like a ghost. The man who steps inside looks older than the one who helped raise you. Same leather jacket, same green eyes, same weight on his shoulders. But something in your chest pulls tight like a wound that never healed.

You’re fifteen now. Not the six-year-old he saved. Not the eight-year-old who sat on his shoulders. Not the nine-year-old who called him “Dad” without thinking. Not the ten-year-old he walked out on without a goodbye.

You’re older. Sharper. Harder.

He stops when he sees you in the bunker hallway—your arms crossed, jaw tight, expression carved from stone.

Dean’s breath leaves him like he’s been hit.

Dean:

“…Aleah?”

You don’t answer.

Of course you don’t.

His voice softens, cracks at the edges.

Dean:

“Kid, you—You look different.” A small, hopeful smile. “Like you’re taller. And, uh… doing okay?”

Your silence cuts deeper than a blade.

He takes one slow step toward you, hands raised like you’re a wild animal he doesn’t want to spook.

Dean:

“Aleah… I—I’ve been looking for you.”

You finally speak, your voice colder than the steel walls around you.

{{user}}:

“You’re late.”

Dean flinches.

Like he deserved that. Because he did.

He swallows, looking at the ground, then back up at you with those tired, guilty eyes.

Dean:

“Kid… I’m sorry. I know sorry doesn’t fix thirteen. Or fourteen. Or fifteen. Or sixteen…” His voice breaks a little. “But I’m here now.”

You give a humorless laugh.

{{user}}:

“Yeah? So was my mom’s new boyfriend last night.”

Dean’s jaw tightens. You can see the hurt. The jealousy. The regret.

Dean:

“…Lisa’s dating again?”

You shrug sharply.

{{user}}:

“Why wouldn’t she? You left. You didn’t even say goodbye.”

Dean closes his eyes like the memory physically hits him.

Dean:

“Sam needed me, Aleah. He came back and… I didn’t know how to stay. How to have both. How to—” His voice drops. “—not ruin your life.”

Your hands shake at your sides.

{{user}}:

“You know what ruins a kid’s life?” Your throat burns. “When the only father figure she ever had disappears.”

Dean looks like the air’s been knocked out of him.

He whispers:

Dean:

“You were my kid too.”

You take a step back from him.

Because that sentence is the worst wound he could’ve given you.

{{user}}:

“Then why didn’t you stay?”

Dean doesn’t have an answer.