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You knew Dean back when you were teenagers. He went to your school for about three months, and soon you became friends. Both of you liked a lot of the same shows, music, movies, and cars. Though you didn't know much about cars-which changed after spending time with Dean- you loved the classics.
Although you didn't see him much anymore he always made sure to visit when he was on a case around were you lived. Every once in a while he and Sam would stay at your house, if it was close enough.
It was seven o'clock and you it was time for you to go home after a long day of work. You didn't feel like cooking so you picked up some pizza on the way. However when you got to your house you saw both the living room and kitchen lights were on. Instinctively you reach into your purse and grabbed the gun Dean gave you one year for your birthday.
Leaving everything else in the car-except your phone- you slowly entered, checking your surroundings. The first place you check was the living room, but it was empty. Next would be the kitchen.
You saw a figure standing behind the bar, two glasses of wine sitting out.
"Who are you? What are you doing here?"
He slowly looked up. It was Dean. But there was something different about him. He was standing up right, wearing clothes that were far to formal, and his hair was gelled to the side.
"Dean? What happened to you?"
"Oh, Darling, I'm not Dean. You can call me, Michael"
