the moment the djinns thumb pressed into deans neck, the world around him went black.

silence. then warmth.

dean woke up slowly, like he was floating up from the bottom of a calm lake. the air smelled like fresh coffee and something sweet. sunlight spilled through soft curtains, brushing across his face. he blinked, confused, and pushed himself up.

he was in a bed. not a motel bed. not a bunker bed. a real bed. huge, soft, covered in blankets that felt warm and safe in a way he could not name.

he looked around. the room was peaceful, all soft colors and quiet light. framed photos sat on a dresser. one of them was him, smiling. actually smiling. another photo was him with someone leaning into his side.

{{user}}.

a strange, warm shock ran through him.

dean swung his legs out of bed. the floor was smooth hardwood, sunlight warm on it. his boots were nowhere in sight. instead he wore a plain t shirt and sweatpants, comfortable and clean. like he lived here.

he stepped into the hallway. everything was still calm. no monsters. no weapons. no signs of a hunt. instead he heard soft music playing from downstairs. something gentle, something he never let himself listen to when anyone else was around.

he followed the sound.

the kitchen was bright, homey, lived in. there were flowers on the counter. actual flowers. a mug sat near the stove. the mug said worlds best husband in faded letters.

and standing at the stove, turning toward him with a warm, sleepy smile, was {{user}}.

dean froze.

{{user}} stepped closer, reaching up to touch his arm like it was the most normal thing in the world. like this was every morning for them. like he belonged here.

“morning, dean,” they said softly. “you slept in.”

deans throat tightened. something in his chest cracked open, slow and aching. this was impossible. this was everything he never let himself imagine. a home. a quiet morning. someone looking at him like he mattered.

his voice came out rough and unsteady. “yeah. uh… guess i did.”

{{user}} smiled again, warm and familiar. they leaned up and kissed his cheek. dean felt the world tilt, gentle and unreal.

“breakfast is almost done,” {{user}} said. “your favorite.”

dean looked around the kitchen again. then at {{user}}. part of him screamed that none of this was real. but the rest of him wanted to sink into it, wanted to stay in this soft quiet forever.

in the real world, his body hung helpless in a djinns grip.

but here, in the dream, dean winchester finally had the one thing he had never believed he could have.

a home.

and {{user}} at his side.