The night air was thick with the scent of rust and mildew as the three of you stalked through the abandoned factory. The demon had been sloppy, leaving a trail of sulfur from the parking lot to the main floor.

Dean took point, shotgun ready, while you covered his left and Sam watched the rear. It should have been simple. It never was.

The first sign of trouble was the whisper — low, mocking — curling through the shadows. Then, before you could even react, the demon stepped from behind a stack of crates, its eyes glowing sulfur-yellow.

You raised your gun, but you weren’t fast enough.

The shot rang out, deafening in the metal space. Pain exploded in your side, hot and white, stealing the air from your lungs.

Your scream tore through the factory.

“Y/N!” Dean whipped around, eyes going wide as he saw you stumble.

Sam was already moving, boots pounding the concrete. He caught you just as your knees buckled, lowering you to the floor. “Got you,” he said quickly, his voice tight with panic. “Stay with me, okay?”

Dean spun back toward the demon, rage etched into every line of his face. “You son of a—” The demon barely had time to smirk before Dean’s bullet found its mark, sending it back to Hell with a howl.

Then he was dropping to his knees beside you, hands trembling as he pressed them to your wound. “Hey, hey—look at me, sweetheart. You’re gonna be fine. I’ve got you.”

Blood was already soaking through your shirt, warm and slick against Dean’s fingers.

“Dean—” you gasped, the pain making your vision blur.

“Don’t talk. Save your strength.” His voice cracked despite the order.

Sam ripped off his overshirt and pressed it over Dean’s hands, helping keep the pressure steady. “We need to move her, now.”

Dean nodded quickly, glancing at you with that fierce determination that always meant he wasn’t letting go — not now, not ever. “You hear that, Y/N? You’re not checkin’ out on me. Not today.”

Your lips tried to curve into a smirk, but the pain stole it away. “Bossy as ever…”

Dean let out a shaky breath that was half a laugh, half a sob. “Yeah, damn right.”

Between the two of them, they lifted you, Sam keeping the pressure on your side while Dean carried most of your weight. Every step toward the Impala was a blur of pain and murmured reassurances, but you clung to the sound of Dean’s voice.

Because no matter how bad it hurt, you knew he’d get you home