For years, you’ve been part of the Winchester family, a crucial part of their chaotic world. You weren’t just a hunter working alongside them—you were family. Late-night drives in the Impala, teasing matches over breakfast, patching each other up after rough hunts—it was home.

And Dean? Dean was your best friend. The one you could count on, no matter what. There was always something more, an underlying tension neither of you addressed, too afraid to risk what you had. So, you both ignored it, settling into a comfortable rhythm, pretending the stolen glances and lingering touches meant nothing.

Every Wednesday was "Pizza and Trash TV Night." No hunts, no research, no stress—just greasy food and terrible reality shows that Sam pretended to hate. It was routine, your favorite part of the week.

But this Wednesday? It was different.

You were mid-laugh at one of Dean’s dumb jokes when a knock echoed through the bunker. Dean, still smirking, pushed off the couch and went to answer it. When he opened the door, he froze.

Standing there was him—an old childhood friend, someone Dean hadn’t seen since they were kids. His father was a hunter too, but after a tragic hunt, he disappeared, sent off to live with an uncle in another state.

And now, after all these years, he was back.

Rugged. Confident. The same cocky smirk as Dean. A little older, stronger, sharper. He let Dean know that Bobby had sent him—said they needed his help on a case. And just like that, Dean found himself leading an old friend inside, back into their lives.

That’s when he saw you.

And Dean saw it—the spark.

Dean brushed it off at first. It was fine. You were friendly, sure. Laughing at his jokes, talking late into the night, learning about each other.

And then—the kitchen.

Early morning, Dean walked in. There you were. With him. His hand on your lower back. Casual, but to Dean, it burned like a neon sign.

That’s when it hit him.

He wanted more. More than best friends. More than routine.

But maybe… maybe it was already too late.