Dean was surprised it hadn’t happened sooner, where your hunt radar overlapped with his. He had walked onto the scene, baring his badge with the lengthy figure of Sam right beside him. Then he had turned right back around when he saw {{user}} already on the scene. Brandishing the fake ID that they had made together.

“Woah, Dean, where are we going?” Sam’s bewildered, shooting apologetic smiles at every forensics person Dean shoves past. “What the hell is going on?” Dean hadn’t told him. Hadn’t ever brought up his hunting partner he had for the two years Sammy was off doing big kid college things.

Dean worked with {{user}} on his non-solo hunts. When he just needed that extra hand. He was good, you were better. Two solo hunters who had come together in dire times to figure out the tough shit.

He never thought he’d see you again. When personal family business came up, he split with little to no explanation. Now here you were, in the flesh. And he was fucked.

Sam drags Dean beyond the police tape and forces him to stand outside the building. Word vomit of who you were spews out of Dean’s mouth.“I can’t believe you never told me about them.” Sam mutters. “Like you would’ve cared Sammy. You were off on your own, and we weren’t exactly on speaking terms.” Dean’s mouth moves a mile a minute. A hint of indignance lingered, leaving a bad taste in the back of his throat.

Sam chose to leave this life, of course Dean wasn’t gonna send post cards about who he was and was not hunting with.

But now you were here. And Dean had to cope with it. (Because Sam just wouldn’t let him walk away).