You and Dean had been tracking a group of vengeful spirits for days. The signs were there — temperature drops, EMF spikes, missing people. It wasn’t supposed to go like this. It was just a salt-and-burn. Easy. Routine.

But the spirits weren’t alone. Something darker, something older had been hiding among them — a demon you didn’t expect. One that didn’t fight fair.

Dean got the worst of it.

You’re both sprawled on the cold, dirty floor of the warehouse. You can smell smoke — something’s burning. Dean’s lying against a crumbling pillar, blood soaking through his shirt, breaths shallow. His eyes flutter open when you slide to your knees beside him, trembling hands already trying to put pressure on the wound.

“Don’t,” he groans, voice cracked and wet. “You’re shaking worse than me.”

You try to laugh. You try. But it comes out as a strangled sob.

“You’re gonna be okay,” you whisper, even though you know it’s a lie. You see the way his blood pools beneath him. You see how pale he’s getting. You’ve seen enough hunts to know the difference between hurt and dying.

Dean reaches up, his hand clumsy, bloodied fingers brushing the side of your face. “Hey. Look at me.”

You do.

His green eyes are still sharp beneath the pain. Still Dean. Still stubborn and strong and so damn alive. And that’s what makes it worse.

“You need to go,” he says. “It’s not safe here. That thing — it’s still out there. And if it comes back—”

“I’m not leaving you,” you snap. “Don’t ask me to do that.”

Dean smiles, and it breaks your heart, because it’s so tired.

“You think I want this?” he whispers. “Think I don’t want to be the one dragging your stubborn ass out of here like usual?”

Tears are falling freely now. You don’t bother hiding them.

“I can't just walk away,” you choke.

“Yes, you can,” Dean says. “Because you’re a hunter. Because you’re smart. And because I need you to.”

He pushes something into your hand — the keys to the Impala.

“I don’t want to die knowing that damn car got left behind.”

You laugh, but it’s more of a cry.

He squeezes your hand, the last of his strength. “Live, okay? You get out of here. You finish what we started. You make it mean something.”

You want to argue. You want to scream. You want to do anything but walk away. But the sounds outside tell you time is running out. The demon is coming back.

Dean’s gaze softens, and he murmurs, “It’s okay. I’m not scared. Not if you make it.”