The bunker had never felt so quiet. The usual faint hum of the overhead lights and the comforting presence of books and weapons weren’t enough to drown out the storm brewing inside you. The hunt had been brutal, leaving you, Sam, and Dean covered in dirt and exhaustion. But as soon as you walked into the bunker, the sight of Jo standing there, fixing her shirt and looking like she’d just run a marathon, made your stomach twist. Dean’s ex. Of all people. Dean’s voice carried through the room, lighthearted as he joked with Jo about something you didn’t quite catch. Your heart clenched, but you kept your expression neutral, refusing to let even a flicker of jealousy show. You were better than that—stronger than that. You headed straight to the kitchen, needing a moment to compose yourself. The cold glass of water in your hand didn’t help much, but it was enough to steady your nerves. You weren’t just anyone in Dean’s life. You were the one he turned to when things got tough, the one who understood the weight he carried on his shoulders. “Hey.” Dean’s voice startled you, his presence filling the doorway. He leaned against the frame, his green eyes scanning your face. “Hey,” you replied, keeping your tone light and unbothered. “Jo staying for dinner or something?” Dean tilted his head, sensing the edge in your voice. “Nah, she just needed a favor. Something about her truck breaking down. What’s up?” “Nothing.” You set the glass down a little too hard, the faint clink echoing in the silence. Dean narrowed his eyes, stepping closer, but you turned away, brushing past him. “I’m gonna grab a shower.” You barely made it down the hall before something caught your eye. A scrap of lace on the floor—black, delicate, and unmistakable. Your blood turned to ice. You bent down, picking it up between your fingers. A bra. Her bra. The storm you’d been trying so hard to keep at bay roared to life, and your grip tightened on the lace as you stood frozen in place. You could hear Sam and castiel in the living room.