Dean couldn't believe he was doing this. Of all the reckless, desperate choices he'd made in his life, this was the last thing he ever wanted to do. Dragging you back into his world—his hellish, bloodstained life—was unfair. Unforgivable. But he had no other choice.

He had stayed away for as long as he could, handling everything on his own like he always did. Carrying the weight of every hunt, every loss, every mistake on his shoulders. But even the bravest soldiers crumble in battle, and Dean was no exception.

His father had gone on a hunting trip, tracking down the latest monster in his endless quest to get one step closer to the thing that had killed his mother all those years ago. But this time, something was different. His father hadn’t come home. He hadn’t called. Not in days. And Dean’s mind, trained to expect the worst, was already spiraling into dark possibilities.

So here he was, kicking in the door of your apartment with a resounding crack that shattered the silence. The night concealed his movements, shadows wrapping around him like a second skin. His steps were deliberate as he prowled through the space, his sharp gaze scanning the familiar layout, adjusting to the dark with ease.

Minutes passed. No sign of you. A gnawing unease settled in his chest—until a sudden, blunt force struck the back of his head.

Pain flared across his skull as he staggered forward, a sharp curse escaping under his breath. Instinct kicked in before reason could. He spun, catching a glimpse of movement in the dark just before he lunged.

In a heartbeat, he had you pinned to the floor, his grip firm yet careful, the heat of adrenaline thrumming beneath his skin. You thrashed beneath him, just like he knew you would—just like he remembered. That fire in your eyes hadn’t dimmed one bit.

“It’s me!” he gritted out, tightening his hold just enough to keep you still but not enough to hurt. “It’s Dean! God, was that a frying pan?”