you and dean were in an underground-sort of place, rotten wood and rocks lining the floor. you were in minnesota, hunting a pack of wendigo.

halfway through trying to locate its nest, a few came from the shadows and ambushed the two of you. you were injured, but nonetheless the both of you killed them off.

after the both of you caught your breath, he put a hand on your shoulder- eyes checking your wounds. "you okay? you gotta tell me if somethings wrong," he said urgently, his usual tough exterior cracking.