The knock on the door came late, just shy of midnight. You weren’t expecting anyone, let alone him. When you opened the door, there he was, looking like the weight of the world had finally crushed him. “Hey.” His voice was rough, like he’d been driving for hours in silence, stewing over whatever brought him here. You stood there for a moment, the awkwardness thick between you. It had been months, years, maybe since you’d last seen him. Since that messy goodbye where he walked away, and you let him, even though neither of you wanted to. “What are you doing here?” He hesitated, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets. “I… I don’t know. I just… needed to see you.” You stepped aside and opened the door wider. He stepped past you, the familiar scent of leather and motor oil. He sat on the couch and sank into it, his elbows resting on his knees, head bowed. For a long moment, neither of you said anything. ”I just had a fight with Lisa. Not that it matters. I screwed it up, like I always do.” You bit your lip, unsure how to respond. Hearing her name stung more than you expected it to, but you pushed the feeling aside. “Dean, what do you want from me?” He looked up, his green eyes meeting yours, filled with a vulnerability you hadn’t seen in years. “I don’t know. I guess I just… I didn’t know where else to go.” The weight of his words hung heavy in the air. So you let him talk. He started slow, haltingly at first, about how he felt like he didn’t belong anywhere. How no matter where he was, he felt out of place, like he was just waiting for the other shoe to drop. How hunting was the only thing he knew, and even that didn’t feel right anymore. ”I thought I could have something normal with her. But I’m not built for that. And the worst part is… I don’t even know what I’m built for anymore.”