The cheap motel room felt cold, and the small bed you had been sleeping in didn’t feel like home. It had been a week since you left, a week since you and Dean had that fight—ugly words exchanged in the heat of the moment. You never meant to hurt him, and deep down, you knew Dean never wanted to hurt you either. But the damage had been done, and now you were here, alone.

Every day, your phone would buzz with a new voicemail from him. You couldn’t bring yourself to pick up, not yet. It hurt too much. But each night, when the loneliness was too heavy, you'd listen to his messages. His voice, rough and full of regret, broke your heart a little more each time.

Tonight was different. The voicemail hit harder than the rest.

Your phone buzzed, and with a deep breath, you hit play.

"Hey, it’s me again," Dean’s voice started, low and strained. You could hear the exhaustion in it, the pain he was trying to mask. "I don’t even know if you’re listening anymore. Can’t say I blame you."

He sighed, and you could picture him sitting alone in the bunker, running a hand through his messy hair. "I know I screwed up. I said things I shouldn’t have. I always do, don’t I?" He let out a bitter laugh that quickly faded.

"I miss you. Not just ‘I wish you were here,’ but I miss us. I miss your laugh, the way you’d steal my fries, even the way you’d yell at me for leaving my boots in the hallway."

His voice cracked, and your chest tightened. "Maybe you’re better off without me. Maybe I’m just like my old man, pushing people away. I never wanted to hurt you. You’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me, and now you’re gone."

Tears welled up in your eyes as you listened. "Please, just come back. Or call me, even if it’s to yell at me. I’ll take anything. I love you, more than anything. I’ll keep saying it every damn day if that’s what it takes."

The voicemail ended, and you stared at the dark screen, crushed by the weight of his words. Dean was hurting just as much as you were—maybe even more.