The doors to the Roadhouse slammed open so hard they rattled the walls.

“MOM!” Jo’s voice cracked as she stumbled inside, half carrying, half dragging you with Sam at your other side. “Mom!”

Your boots scraped against the floorboards, leaving streaks of blood behind. Warm blood soaked through Sam’s hands where he held your side together.

“Dean!” he shouted next. “DEAN!”

The noise in the bar died instantly.

Pool cues lowered. Conversations stopped. Ash looked up sharply from his laptop. Ellen came rushing from behind the counter, her expression dropping the second she saw you.

“Oh my God—”

Your head lolled weakly against Sam’s shoulder, eyes barely open. Deep claw marks tore across your stomach and ribs, your jacket practically shredded crimson.

Jo was crying openly now. “There were too many—we thought we cleared the nest and then more came out of nowhere—”

“We need a table,” Sam barked.

Chairs screeched across the floor as hunters jumped into motion. Ellen shoved bottles and papers off one of the large tables while Sam carefully lifted you onto it.

You whimpered softly the second your back hit the wood.

Then Dean appeared.

He came down the back hallway fast, confusion already twisting into concern. “What the hell is goin’—”

He saw you.

Everything in him stopped.

For one horrible second Dean just stared.

Your blood covered Sam’s arms. Your skin looked ghostly pale beneath the dim lights. One of your hands hung limply off the table, fingertips dripping red onto the floor.

Dean’s face lost all color.

“No,” he breathed.

He crossed the room instantly, shoving past another hunter. “No, no, no—hey.” His hands grabbed your face gently despite the panic in them. “Hey, baby, look at me.”

Your hazel eyes fluttered open at the sound of his voice. Barely.

“Dean…” you whispered weakly.

The sound nearly destroyed him.

“What happened?” Dean snapped, looking at Sam and Jo with rising fury and fear.

“A pack,” Sam answered quickly. “One went for Jo and she—”

“She pushed me outta the way,” Jo choked out. “It should’ve been me.”

Dean looked back at you, jaw clenched so tightly it trembled.

“You idiot,” he whispered, though his voice broke around the words. “You absolute idiot…”

But his thumb brushed carefully over your cheekbone.

Ellen was already opening a medical kit. “Sam, alcohol. Ash, towels. Jo, boil water.”

Everyone moved.

Everyone except Dean.

He stayed planted beside you like if he moved, you’d disappear.

Your trembling fingers weakly caught the sleeve of his flannel. “Dean…”

“I’m here.” Immediate. Firm. Desperate. “I got you.”

You tried to smile but pain twisted across your face instead. A soft cry slipped from your lips as Ellen carefully pulled your torn jacket aside.

Dean looked down—

And saw the damage fully.

Four deep gashes raked across your abdomen, vicious enough to make his stomach turn. Blood soaked the waistband of your jeans.

Fear hit him hard and ugly.

Not the normal hunter fear.

Not the fear of monsters or demons or dying.

This was worse.

This was the fear of losing you.

Dean grabbed your hand tightly, pressing it against his chest.

“Stay awake,” he ordered roughly, eyes glassy already. “You hear me? Don’t you dare pull that crap where you close your eyes.”

“Tired…” you mumbled.

“I know.” His voice softened instantly. “I know, baby. But stay with me anyway.”

Sam returned with supplies, setting them down quickly while Ellen worked. Dean never let go.

Not when you screamed from the disinfectant.

Not when your body shook violently from blood loss.

Not even when Ellen quietly muttered, “Dean… I need room to work.”

Dean swallowed hard, staring at you like the sight of you burned into him.

Then your weak fingers squeezed his hand.

Dean leaned down immediately, forehead pressing against yours.

“You’re not dying tonight,” he whispered fiercely. “You understand me? After everything we survived?” His voice cracked. “I’m not losing you too.”