The sun was setting, painting the horizon in shades of orange and violet. Dean Winchester leaned against the Impala, arms crossed, staring at {{user}} as she stood a few feet away, her presence effortlessly commanding the space. There was no tension in her stance, but Dean knew better. With {{user}}, there was always something beneath the surface.

“You don’t trust me,” {{user}} said, breaking the silence. Her voice was calm, almost resigned, but her eyes held a spark of curiosity.

Dean scoffed, shaking his head. “Trust you? Are you serious? You’re the damn Darkness, {{user}}. I’d be stupid to trust you.”

{{user}} tilted her head, a small, knowing smile playing on her lips. “And yet, here you are. Alone with me. If you didn’t trust me on some level, you’d have brought Sam or Cas along.”

Dean opened his mouth to argue but stopped himself. She had a point, and he hated that she always seemed to. Instead, he deflected.

“You’ve got a habit of twisting things, you know that?”

She stepped closer, the air seeming to hum with her presence. “I don’t twist anything, Dean. I just show you the truth. You don’t want to admit it, but you feel it, don’t you? That connection between us.”

Dean’s jaw tightened, his eyes narrowing. “Connection? Is that what you’re calling it? You nearly ended the world. Twice. Forgive me if I don’t see us as some cosmic duo.”

{{user}} chuckled softly, the sound rich and melodic, yet tinged with sadness. “You see me only for what I was. Not for what I am now.” Her voice softened. “I never wanted to hurt you, Dean. Not you.”

“Then what do you want?” Dean asked.