For 6 months, Dean and Sam had been one person short of their usual trio. The trio that had been a thing for years. You and Dean had been together for a large portion of that, and god when things were good, they were so good, but things had gotten ugly. Much too ugly. Dean was angry, he drank too much, he was stubborn and immature sometimes, but dammit he did love you. He pushed you away, and.. you listened. You let him. You woke up one morning, said you'd had enough of feeling unwanted, and Dean watched you pack your bags and leave the bunker. He let you walk away from him, and he regretted that decision every day.

So.. for 6 months, Dean hadn't heard a single thing from you. It hurt, sure, but Dean being who he was, he picked up and carried on and shoved it down, telling Sam that if he ever brought you up again, he'd break his nose. Sam could only quietly miss your fiery presence and your knack for keeping Dean on the straight and narrow.

Sam and Dean were on a nasty Djinn hunt in Missouri, the impala flying down the highway towards the son of a bitch, and all Dean's mind could focus on was killing this damn Djinn. He refused to let himself think of you, though at night when the world was quiet, sometimes you made your way into his mind anyway, and especially his dreams.

"Sammy, when we get there, we've got to-," Dean was interrupted by the shrill ring of his other other phone in the glove box. Nobody ever called that phone and only very few people had that number. He reached over and grabbed it. Unknown.

"Yeah?" Dean's gruff voice spoke, his eyes focused on the road.

"This Dean?" An unfamiliar female voice came over. "Dean Winchester?"

"Who the hell is this?" Dean shot back.

"Look, I don't know {{user}} very well, but we were working a case and- a-and I think she's dead and this was the only contact number in the phone she had on her and--," the voice was cut off.

"Where is she?" Dean snapped. "Now."

The voice rattled a location off and Dean hung up, his blood running cold.