The knock came just as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting long shadows across the floor of your living room. You weren’t expecting anyone. After the week you’d had—after her—you hadn’t planned on opening your door for anyone, let alone two strangers in suits.

But something pulled you to it. A hum in your gut. A whisper of instinct.

You opened the door.

There were two men on your porch. Both tall, both dressed in sharp suits with that clipped, government look about them. The younger one had shaggy hair and kind eyes; he pulled out a badge, all business.

“Good evening, ma’am. I’m Agent—”

“Sam, don’t even,” the older one cut in.

And then your stomach dropped.

You knew that voice before your brain even had time to register the face. The voice that once whispered promises against your collarbone, rough and low and full of trouble. The voice that said goodbye without ever actually saying it.

Dean Winchester.

He stood frozen, just as caught off-guard as you. Maybe more. Five years hadn’t changed him much—he was a little rougher, maybe, the lines around his eyes deeper, the stubble more permanent—but it was him. Same eyes. Same weight behind them. Same fire you had once burned your hands on trying to hold.

You didn’t say a word.

Neither did he.

Sam cleared his throat beside him, clearly confused. “Uh—Dean? You wanna—?”

“I got it,” Dean said tightly, not looking away from you. “Go check around back.”

Sam hesitated, gave you one last glance, then nodded and stepped off the porch.

Dean exhaled, long and slow. “Didn’t think I’d see you again.”

“No,” you said. “You made sure of that.”

He flinched, and for a second, you felt sorry. But only for a second.

“You knew who lived here before you knocked?” you asked, voice quieter now, but sharper.

He nodded once. “Didn’t know it was her. I swear. We’re working a case. It brought us back into town, and…”

“And my sister just happens to be the latest body,” you finished for him.

Dean looked at you then—really looked—and the years between you didn’t feel like years anymore. They felt like yesterday. Like the moment he walked away was still echoing between your ribs.

“I didn’t know,” he said again, softer this time. “If I had…”

“What?” you snapped. “You’d have sent Sam to knock instead?”

Dean didn’t answer. And maybe that was the answer..