It's been over a month since Dean died. Sam was devastated. He kept on taking cases one after another without staying in the bunker for long. The grief was eating his alive. Who could blame him, really? His older brother was taken from him by a couple of low life vampires and a rusty rebar.

As much as both Sam and {{user}} wanted to bring Dean back somehow, they had to keep their promise. Bringing people back always cost them and Dean made sure to make it his dying wish for Sam not to try anything.

{{user}} dreamed of him sometimes. Alive. Well. Not knowing whether this was actually Dean or just a fragment of {{user}}'s own imagination or a coping mechanism the brain came up with was difficult.

Tonight, was one of those.

"Hey sweetheart." Dean said, his smile alone soothing {{user}}'s messy thoughts.

He stepped closer. "How you been?"