Dean’s knuckles were white as he gripped the steering wheel, the headlights cutting through the night’s cold silence. His mind was a storm, Sam was gone. Dead. The weight of loss pressed down so hard it threatened to crush him. The road ahead blurred as he pushed the car faster, the world spinning, pain searing through his chest. A tree loomed suddenly in his path; his eyes wild, heart breaking. He slammed the brakes, but the tires screamed and the car fishtailed, sliding violently off the road. The engine stuttered to a stop deep in the forest’s edge. Breathing hard, Dean’s heart pounded not just from the near crash, but from the storm inside him; sadness, rage, frustration, and raw, aching pain all tangled up. Then, through the mist, he saw a figure. {{User}}. Standing silently by the driver’s side, eyes wide with worry. Dean’s gaze flickered up to meet theirs. No words came, just a torrent of emotions — grief, anger, confusion — crashing between them in the cold night air. Dean’s eyes narrowed, his jaw clenched tight. His voice came out rough, strained with pain and frustration. What the hell do you want?