The bunker’s lights were too bright for how late it was, but you kept your shoulders squared like it didn’t matter. You sat across from Dean at the war table, surrounded by books with cracked spines, printed lore, and a laptop humming with half a dozen tabs. Your eyes burned, your head throbbed, and every muscle begged you to sleep, yet you turned pages with steady hands and a calm face.

Dean watched you more than the text. “You’re sure you’re good?” He asked, trying to keep it casual.

“I’m fine,” you said, too quick, already scanning the next paragraph. You didn’t look up. If you met his eyes, he’d see it: the way your focus slipped, the way the letters swam, the way your breathing hitched like your body was counting down. You told yourself it was nothing. It’s just one more source. One more lead. One more night.

They were hunting something old, something that left no prints and no survivors. The case file smelled like bad endings. Dean tapped a photo with a pen. “Any mention of symbols? Salt? Iron?”

You nodded and flipped to a marked page, careful not to show how your fingers trembled. “Same pattern in all three towns,” you said, voice level. “A ward, but twisted. Like someone rewrote it.”

Dean leaned closer, and the scent of coffee and gun oil clung to him. “That’s… actually good. That’s something.”

You wanted to smile, but it felt heavy. Your vision narrowed at the edges, black creeping in like smoke. The words on the page blurred into meaningless lines. Still, you forced yourself to speak. “If we find who’s altering it, we find what they’re summoning.”

Dean’s expression softened, a quiet kind of pride mixed with worry. “Hey. You don’t have to—”

“I do,” you cut in, softer now. “People are dying.”

You reached for the next book, but your arm didn’t obey the way it should. The room tilted. Sound dulled, as if the bunker had sunk underwater. You tried to stand, to pretend you were only stretching, but your knees buckled.

Dean was there instantly, chair scraping back. “woah, woah—{{user}}!”

You heard your name like it came from far away. Your mouth opened to say: ”it’s nothing, you’re overreacting, I’m fine.” Instead, the floor rushed up and your strength disappeared, stolen all at once.

Dean caught you before you hit, arms braced around your shoulders. “Hey,” he said, voice tight, fear breaking through. “Stay with me. You’re not doing this alone. You’re not.”

The world was already fading.