#unmistakablyunknown

You trusted Carmen almost wholly in his judgement of who was talented enough in the kitchen. Likewise, he trusted your judgement, and that's how this arrangement came to be. You'd been looking for someone to help out, fill the gaps left behind by the last pastry chef you'd had. Unfortunately, he ended up not being a good fit for the business you were striving to create.

So Carmen had come in clutch with a recommendation, and you'd practically bitten his hand off to thank him. You were nervous, waiting for this new hire to arrive. Carmen had helped arrange the sit-down; all that was left to do was for him to turn up. Your restaurant was closed for the day, the standard you'd set from the very beginning. You'd taken your time cleaning up, resetting and restocking, and this was the last thing on your agenda for the day.

A knock on the door snapped you out of the spiral you were following in your head. All the questions you wanted to ask, things you needed to know about him. Quick to stand up, you were unlocking the door with keen hands. And when the door opened, you swore your heart stopped.

"Hi - is this the right place? I'm here about the pastry chef position?" It took a moment to register that he was speaking to you before shaking your head and letting him in.

"Yes! Of course, come in!" He was nothing short of an Adonis. Tall, blonde, decently muscular from what you could tell as he stepped around you to take a seat.

"I really appreciate you being able to meet so fast, I-I need to plug this gap as soon as possible," you explained, shutting the door and leading him to a table near the kitchen door. The soft, low lighting did nothing to stop you from thinking about how gorgeous he was. Shamelessly, you'd probably take him on even if he fell short of the mark just for something pretty to look at on shift.

"Oh, no worries, Carm told me you needed someone that'd be able to start straight away, so happy to help," he replied with a smile, leaning back in his seat, jacket draped over the back.

"You're definitely helping us out -"

"Luca. I'd say any friend of Carmen's is a friend of mine, but... I've met some of his other friends," he stated, and you couldn't help but agree. Carmen was a brother to you and, like a real brother, he made some questionable choices that often made you want to put your head through a wall.

"Well, you did come highly recommended. He had nothing but good things to say about you." Luca smiled, and your heart hammered a little harder. He was truly breathtaking.

"Is there anything you want me to demo? I'd be happy to show you what I can do, if that helps sway you even more?" he asked, eyebrow quirked ever so slightly with a boyish grin on his lips. There was something so deeply enticing about him, an allure you couldn't describe as anything other than a deep-seated need for connection.

"Ah—I mean, you don't have to. I trust that you know what you're doing," you insisted, not wanting to put pressure on him so suddenly. Luca shrugged and leaned in. Subconsciously, you did the same, keeping your eyes on him, the contact burning in ways you'd never imagined.

"I do," Luca replied with an almost smug grin, as though he sensed the underlying innuendo in the words you exchanged. You couldn't ignore how hot your neck, cheeks, and ears became, so you tried to brush it off with a deep inhale.

"Alright then, I guess I'll see you bright and early in the morning." He seemed surprised by the statement and blinked a couple of times before clearing his throat and leaning forward, prompting you to do the same.

"Well, I see no need to take this interview any further, you've got the job. So I'll see you tomorrow?" There was a boyish grin on his face and he seemed pleased by the revelation. You held a hand out to him and he was quick to accept. His palm was warm and his hand was noticeably bigger than yours.

"Tomorrow. I'll be here."

-/-/-

Dean thought he knew loss. He knew heartache and grief. They were old friends of his, having spent so much of his life on the road, so many people he cared about being lost along the way. He thought he was good at handling his grief and guilt.

Until he lost you.

It had been so sudden.

One minute you were there, the next, bleeding out in his arms. You had made one last attempt to assure him it was okay, that you weren't scared, and he could still feel the fading warmth of the palm of your hand against his cheek.

And then you were gone.

Sam had pulled him away. It hadn't been something he wanted to do; he wanted to let his brother grieve and process it all in his own time, but that wasn't a choice. They had to go. He had to leave you behind, and that hurt far worse than he'd ever imagined.

Dean thought he could handle most things the world could throw at him, losing you was not on that list.

He should've listened to John. Loving something only makes it more dangerous to keep. And then he had to leave you behind.

There was nothing he didn't try to do to get you back. He had no idea if any of it worked, or how he'd even get back to you with all the other cases and travelling and having to keep moving.

For six long months, Sam watched Dean run himself into the ground, seemingly intent on joining you in whatever Paradise you now rested. He had to be with you. It was early Autumn, the leaves were beginning to fall and change colour and there was always the lingering smell of rain in the air everywhere they went.

There was a knock on the motel door. Both of them stopped and exchanged concerned glances. Dean had been running on three days of next to no sleep, desperate to keep searching for answers on the most recent case they'd picked up, though Sam could tell his heart wasn't in it like it used to be.

Dean opened the door, and his heart stopped. In the rain, in the fading daylight, standing in front of the motel door, was you. For a moment, Dean thought he was experiencing some kind of cruel dream and wanted to shut the door.

"Dean?" Your voice sounded a little more hoarse than he remembered, but it still sounded exactly like you. Involuntary tears stung in his eyes.

"Sweetheart?" A lump forced its way into his throat.

"Can I come in? S' kinda cold out here." You couldn't take your eyes off him, drinking in all the heartbeaking details; the dark circles under his eyes, the 5 o'clock shadow that was starting to become more of a beard. Wordless, he stepped aside. Sam was just as shell-shocked as Dean.

"What the Hell happened? I thought - you were -"

"I don't know. Everything went dark and cold, and the next thing I know, a voice is telling me I have to wake up... That it wasn't my turn yet... What day is it?" Dean floundered, unable to process that you were here, breathing, talking and full of colour again.

"That was six months ago," Sam explained gently, "Where did you, uh... Wake up?"

"A field. A mile or two away, like whoever brought me back did that on purpose." The whole time, Dean couldn't take his eyes off of you. Sam eventually made up some excuse about wanting food and excused himself from the room, leaving you two alone.

"Dean -" Whatever you wanted to say failed to make it off your tongue. He looked... Broken. As though any moment he would wake up in a world where you were really dead and buried, for good. Slowly, you closed the gap between you two, reaching out for him.

Your palm found his stubbly cheek, and the warmth under his skin felt like home. That seemed to be the moment the dam broke. He closed his eyes, and tears rolled freely down his cheeks as he leaned into your touch, trying his hardest not to completely fall apart. You'd always handled him so carefully, so precisely, and so gently that your touch was a grounding force for him, kept his feet on the ground and his head on his shoulders.

"S' okay, baby, m' here," you assured him gently, voice barely loud enough to be heard over the rain, but it was the only sound Dean could hear. One that he'd missed for the last six months. He drew a sudden, shaky breath and allowed himself to pull you in for a hug so warm, and tight and needed that you almost broke too.

"I really thought you were gone -" he admitted against your hair, one hand cradling the back of your head, the other rubbing up and down your back. Your heart broke even more.

"I'm here, I promise I'm not goin' anywhere ever again..."

-/-/-

-/-/-

Something was off about Jake. Everyone noticed it almost immediately. His usual cocky demeanour had been taken over by someone quieter, more anxious. Bradley had joked and poked fun, hoping to get a rise from Jake but he didn’t react.

By the end of the afternoon, the rest of the Daggers were beyond concerned. Something was wrong with Jake. He was first out of his seat to the locker room after dismissal and whilst that wasn’t necessarily unusual, he skipped his shower to grab his bag and keys.

They had no clue.

Less than an hour later he was waiting at the arrivals gate of San Diego International, anxiously scanning the boards, waiting to see when Flight 826 would land.

Jake had been so caught up in trying to get to the airport in time he’d not noticed the rest of his teammates lingering in civilian clothes a little way off. They kept a safe distance to avoid being spotted but the suspense and anticipation had caused Mickey and Javy to almost give them away before getting scolded by Nat to play it cool.

Jake’s hands trembled with nerves. His stomach was in knots as he waited. Dozens and dozens of other couples, families and friends reunited around him. It only made his anxiety worse.

Then it was finally his turn.

“Daddy!” that shrill, familiar cry had his heart racing. There you both were. His girls.

“Hey!” he greeted with equal enthusiasm, opening his arms to accept a long-awaited hug from you both. Jake Seresin was a proud man but even he couldn’t stop himself from shedding tears with you both in his arms.

“You have no idea how happy I am to see you both,” he admitted with a sniff, wiping at his eyes when you’d stepped apart. Your six-year-old held her arms up with a bright, toothy grin, knowing Jake would never refuse her.

“C’mere, Buttercup, have you been a good girl for your Mama?”

“Yeah!” she replied with a giggle, immediately settling to rest her head on his shoulder, playing with the chain of his dog tags.

The Daggers were all agape with shock as they watched the scene in front of them. They couldn’t hear what was being said but they realised why he’d been so different all day. It all made sense as they watched the way he accepted affection from you both.

“We’ve missed you, Jake,” you admitted with a teary smile. Jake kept one arm supporting your daughter whilst his other hand reached for her floral suitcase. Together, the three of you headed out, too enamoured with one another to notice the gawking faces of his team.

“You girls need somethin’ to eat?” he asked as you piled into his truck, securing the suitcases in the flatbed and your daughter in her booster seat.

“What do you think, Buttercup? Want Daddy to make some dinner?”

“Please? Only if Mama helps,” she replied, making you both laugh. It was no secret between the three of you that Jake was not the best cook, though he had a few key recipes that never let him down.

Now that you were with him, the world seemed a little lighter. Breathing was a little easier. He was happier just being in your company, knowing you were both safe and well.

-/-/-