When Dean Winchester finds himself at the mercy of Bella Talbot, desperate for information that might save his soul, he crosses paths with Nadia Turner-the strong-willed, fiercely independent daughter of hunter Rufus Turner. Though the connection be...
Dean Smith's day began just like any other. He stood in front of the mirror for a moment longer than usual, adjusting his yellow and blue tie with a quiet sigh.
The colors were supposed to be optimistic—at least that's what the marketing department at his job had insisted—but today, they felt more like a shackle. He'd skipped breakfast, too. A "cleanse," as he put it to himself, though his stomach was already growling by the time he left for work.
When he arrived at the office, he stepped into the elevator with a few other employees, the usual assortment of tired faces glued to their phones. The hum of the elevator made the ride feel like a lull, the minutes slipping by without much fanfare. But that all changed when the doors opened on the next floor.
Sam.
Dean's stomach tightened, and for a split second, it felt like the air got thinner. Sam's eyes met his, and there was that familiar awkwardness, that unspoken tension from the night before—an echo of something neither of them had fully unpacked. Sam's expression was unreadable, but the frown tugging at the edges of his lips didn't help matters.
Without a word, Sam pushed the button for his floor and moved to the corner, as if he were intentionally putting distance between them. Dean couldn't blame him. The less said, the better.
Dean's gaze flickered to the numbers above the door, and for a moment, he focused on that instead. But the sense of Sam's eyes boring into him was almost unbearable. He felt his throat tighten.
Then, the elevator stopped—again.
The doors slid open, and the other employees filed out, leaving the two men alone. The elevator hummed back to life, but the air between them was thick with unspoken words. Dean shifted on his feet, trying to ignore the tension building.
Sam shifted uncomfortably, clearly wrestling with something in his mind. Then, after a long silence, he spoke.
"Can I ask you a question?"
Dean exhaled sharply, his mind racing. "Look, man, I told you, I'm not into the, uh—"
"Oh dude, come on, I'm not either," Sam said, his frown deepening. "I just wanna ask you one question."
Dean glanced at the buttons, his finger lingering over the one for his floor, his stop. He still had time, but he wasn't sure if he really wanted to spend any more of it in this suffocating silence. At the same time, he felt a weird sense of obligation to hear Sam out. So, against his better judgment, he nodded.
"Sure," Dean muttered, his voice flat, though he couldn't quite hide the curiosity that lingered behind it.
Sam hesitated for a moment. His eyes flickered to the floor, then back up to Dean, and in that beat of silence, the weight of whatever was coming next seemed to hang in the air.
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