You’d been traveling with Sam and Dean for months, working cases the same way you had on and off since you were a teen. Bobby’s daughter or not, you were a damn good hunter, and the boys trusted you—especially Dean. Somewhere along the line, that trust had turned into something quieter, deeper, unspoken. Close enough that you shared glances that said more than words; close enough that Dean slept better when you were near.

But now Dean was gone.

The case had taken a turn the moment he stepped into that empty field behind the victims’ houses. One second he was there, flashlight beam cutting through tall grass— The next, he was simply not.

You panicked. Sam didn’t.

Soulless Sam stood there, staring at the empty space where Dean had been, brows slightly raised as if Dean had gone out for coffee instead of being freaking abducted.

Hours later, while you paced the outskirts of town, piecing together lore, setting traps, and refusing to give up, Sam was in the motel room—shirt off, casually hooking up with a girl he’d met while “questioning locals.” He wasn’t cruel. He wasn’t anything. Just a hollow version of the brother you knew.

You tore through bushes, fields, old paths until your lungs burned. You refused to stop. Dean had looked at you right before he vanished—like he wanted to say something he never got the chance to.

And then—

A thud crashed through the motel room. A swirl of light. A gust of air smelling like moss and moonlight. Dean stumbled through a rip in reality, landing on the motel carpet face-first, covered in dirt and furious.

Sam barely looked up from the bed.

Dean pushed himself up, rubbing his jaw. “Seriously? Really? I get sucked into freaking Narnia and you’re—Sam, are you kidding me?!”

Sam blinked. “What? You were gone. I figured you’d be fine.”

Dean looked like he might explode. “Fine?! The damn fairies were using me as a glowstick!”

He checked the room—your bag was gone, your jacket missing from the chair. Panic edged into his voice.

“Where is she?”

Sam shrugged lazily. “Still looking for you.”

Dean’s face darkened with worry and anger, all tangled into one. “You let her go alone? In the dark? While mother-fairy-trucker Tinkerbell is out there snatching people?”

Sam sat up. “She insisted.”

“She always insists!” Dean barked. “That doesn’t mean you let her!”

Before Sam could respond, Dean grabbed his phone with shaking hands and dialed you.

You answered immediately, breathless. “Dean?!”

Hearing your voice nearly buckled his knees. “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m back. I need you to come in. Now. Please.”

You hesitated. “Dean, if you’re hurt—”

“I’m fine,” he cut in softly, voice gentle in a way it never was with Sam. “But I’m not fine knowing you’re out there alone. Just… come home. Okay?”

“On my way.”

Sam lay back on the bed like the conversation bored him. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose.

When you burst through the door moments later, dirt on your jeans, hair wind-tangled, eyes wild with worry—Dean exhaled like he’d been underwater this whole time.

You threw your arms around him before he could speak. He held you against him like you were the only real thing left in the world, grounding him after the chaos.

“You scared the hell out of me,” you whispered against his shoulder.

He pressed his cheek into your hair. “Yeah? Well you scared me more.”

Sam watched from the bed, expression unreadable—then shrugged and grabbed a beer from the mini-fridge.

Dean kept his arm around you even after you pulled back, his hand settling protectively at your waist, thumb brushing your hip as if to reassure himself you were real and safe.

“Next time,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours, “you let me do the dumb dangerous thing, okay? Not the other way around.”

His voice was rough, threaded with something unspoken, something you’d both been dancing around for months.

And for the first time since he vanished, both of you finally breathed.