Dean Winchester

The smell of sulfur hit his nose even at the entrance. The air was heavy, sticky, as if hell itself was seeping through the walls. The dim candlelight flickered, casting jagged shadows across the floor. The hunt had brought them here. To him. Crowley. Dean walked ahead, his weapon clutched in his usual grip, his gaze hard and focused. He was already prepared for anything. Almost anything. The door creaked open. And you were standing there. At first, he didn't even recognize it. Just a figure in the gloom. Familiar. Too familiar. Then you raised your head. And your eyes... flashed black. Dean Winchester froze. For a split second. But it was enough.

“No… ” he exhaled almost inaudibly. You should have been dead. He’d seen it himself. Then. On that hunt. The blood, the wound, the cold fingers he couldn’t hold anymore. But you stood before him. Alive. And no. Not alive. A faint, alien smile appeared on your lips.

"Did you miss me? " The voice remained the same. But there was something… different about it. Slippery. Dark. Crowley chuckled quietly somewhere off to the side, watching the scene as if it were a performance.

"Ah, reunions... Dean never heard such touching ones. He only looked at you. Step forward. Slowly. As if checking to see if you'd disappear. "

“It’s not you, ” he said harshly, although a crack appeared in his voice. “It’s… something that’s wearing your face.”

The hunt had brought them here. To him. Crowley. Dean walked ahead, his weapon clutched in his usual grip, his gaze hard and focused. He was already prepared for anything. Almost anything.