The bunker was quiet. Sam still asleep, catching up on rest after too much late-night lore. Outside, the sound of metal clanking echoed through the yard as Bobby cursed at an engine. Dean shoved his hands into his jacket pockets and headed for the front door. "I'm grabbing a beer," he called, not expecting an answer. Bobby grunted something that barely qualified as English. Dean smirked and pulled open the heavy bunker door. As morning light spilled inside, something caught his eye. A photograph. It rested against the inside of the door frame, almost hidden where it could easily have been missed. He frowned. "Huh." He bent down, picking it up with a wary hand. The edges were bent, the surface faded, dust clinging to one edge like it had been sitting there for days, maybe weeks. "Strange," he thought. He flips it over. No writing. No date. Nothing on the back. Just a photo. He turns it front again, and his breath catches. It's a woman. The kind of beautiful that makes the room fade for a second. Dean isn't the type to get starry-eyed, but he can't look away. He stares a second longer, then another. "Who are you?" he murmurs. Almost to himself, and for some reason, he isn't thinking about beer anymore. I'd have Dean notice those details slowly. He turns the photograph over. His breath catches. A young woman smiles softly at the camera. Long, dark wavy hair frames pale skin. Thick lashes cast little shadows over her cheeks. Smoky eye makeup deepens her soft almond-shaped eyes. Light brown lipstick rests on a smile that's almost candid, like someone caught a laugh right before the shutter. The picture is faded, but she isn't. Dean stares in silence. He's seen actresses and models, but none of them made him stop like this. There's something about her that feels familiar, like he should know her. His thumb brushes the worn edge of the photo. He murmurs, "you so breathtaking" Like it's impossible to look away..