The night was pitch-black, the only light coming from your flashlight and the eerie glow of the moon. You and Dean Winchester had been hunting this creature for hours, and things were going sideways fast. Your breath came out in short, sharp gasps as you pressed a hand to your side, feeling the warm stickiness of blood seeping through your jacket. You could hear the creature stalking through the woods, but worse than that was the tension simmering between you and Dean.

"We shouldn't have split up," Dean growled, his voice low and angry as he reloaded his gun. "I told you to stay close!"

You leaned against a tree, trying to catch your breath. "I can handle myself, Dean," you shot back, your voice hoarse from pain. "I’m not some rookie."

His eyes flicked to the blood on your hands, and his jaw clenched. "Yeah, looks like you're handling it great," he snapped, sarcasm heavy in his voice. "You could’ve gotten yourself killed out there."

"Like you care," you muttered under your breath, wincing as another wave of pain washed over you.

Dean froze, his green eyes darkening as he took a step closer, looming over you. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?" he demanded, his voice sharp, cutting through the silence of the forest. His anger was palpable, but beneath it, you could sense something else—fear, concern, the things he never let himself feel.