Dean walked into the dimly lit bar, his boots clicking against the hardwood floor. The faint smell of whiskey and sweat clung to the air, the kind of place where hunters like him could find a drink and disappear for a while. He’d been through hell, and he’d survived. But tonight? Tonight was different.

As he scanned the room, a woman sitting at the far end of the bar caught his eye. The back of her head, the way she held herself—there was something so painfully familiar about her. His heart clenched, and for a moment, time slowed. He froze in place, feeling as though the room had gone quiet, like he was back in that moment six years ago when he thought she was gone forever.

“Holy shit,” he whispered under his breath, his voice cracking with disbelief.

It couldn’t be her. She was gone. He’d buried her. Hell, he’d even mourned her, he couldn't bring himself to burn her body for the hunters burial... he couldn't do it. He’d been convinced she was a ghost in his mind. But now, here she was, sitting at a bar, alive.

Dean’s heart pounded as he took a step forward. His boots made a louder sound against the floor, and she turned. Her eyes met his—those same eyes, the same warmth, the same fire. His stomach dropped.

“Dean?” Her voice was soft, but it shattered the silence in his head.

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. His chest tightened as the memories of everything they’d shared rushed back. Six years—six fucking years. He’d lost her, or so he thought. And now she was standing in front of him, like nothing had changed.

“Where the hell have you been?” His voice was hoarse, the words forced through his clenched jaw. “I—You died. I buried you. I thought I lost you, and now here you are. You—you were gone. I held your body, for God’s sake. I watched them bury you. I—"