The abandoned warehouse smelled like rust, mold, and old rainwater.

Dean hated it.

Every creak of the metal beams overhead put him on edge, every distant drip echoing too loudly through the massive empty space. Bobby was near the back entrance checking salt lines while Dean paced near the center of the warehouse, shotgun hanging loose in his grip.

And you—

You sat on an overturned crate near the wall, arms folded tightly against your chest as you watched Dean wear a path into the concrete floor.

Your brown hair was pulled back messily, freckles standing out against tired skin under the weak warehouse lights.

Dean glanced at you again.

Then again.

He couldn’t stop doing that lately.

Ever since Cas broke Sam’s wall… everything had gone to hell faster than usual.

Sam wasn’t sleeping.

Wasn’t eating.

And the look in his eyes?

Dean knew that look.

It was the same look hunters got right before they snapped.

“You keep pacing like that,” you murmured softly, “you’re gonna wear holes through your boots.”

Dean snorted quietly. “Wouldn’t be the first pair.”

Your lips twitched into a tiny smile, but it didn’t last long.

Nothing did anymore.

The silence stretched.

Then—

CRASH.

The warehouse doors slammed open hard enough to rattle the walls.

Dean spun instantly, shotgun raised.

Sam stumbled inside breathing hard, sweat drenched through his shirt, pistol already in his shaking hands.

“Sam?” Dean lowered the gun slightly. “Whoa, hey—”

But Sam wasn’t looking at him.

His eyes were wide.

Terrified.

Locked onto something behind Dean.

“No…” Sam whispered.

Dean’s stomach dropped.

Sam lifted the pistol.

“Sam,” Dean said carefully, stepping forward, “there’s nobody there.”

Lucifer.

That’s what Sam was seeing.

Dean could tell immediately.

Sam’s hands shook violently as he backed away, eyes darting around the warehouse like he was surrounded.

“You stay away from me!” Sam shouted hoarsely.

“Sam,” Bobby tried from across the room, “it ain’t real—”

“SHUT UP!”

The gun fired.

The shot ricocheted off metal somewhere overhead.

You flinched hard at the sound, immediately moving toward Sam despite Dean reaching for your arm.

“Hey,” you said gently, voice soft and careful, the same tone you always used when Dean was angry or scared. “Sammy, look at me.”

Sam’s breathing hitched.

But his eyes never focused on you.

They looked through you.

“No,” he whispered again, horrified. “No, you get away from me.”

Dean froze.

Your expression fell slightly.

“Sam—”

“You’re not real!” Sam shouted.

He raised the gun.

Dean moved instantly.

“So help me God, Sam, put the gun down—”

You stepped closer anyway.

Slow.

Careful.

Your hazel eyes shimmered under the dim lights, golden flecks catching for half a second as you reached toward him.

“Sammy,” you whispered, “it’s me.”

And for one single heartbeat—

Sam saw Lucifer smiling at him.

The gun fired.

The sound ripped through the warehouse.

Dean watched your body jerk violently.

For a second, nobody moved.

Nobody breathed.

Then your hand flew to your stomach.

Blood spilled between your fingers.

“Oh my God,” Sam choked out.

Your knees buckled.

Dean caught you before you hit the concrete.

“Hey—hey, hey, stay with me.” Dean’s voice broke instantly as he dropped to his knees with you in his arms.

Warm blood soaked through his hands terrifyingly fast.

Your face had gone pale.

“Dean…” you whispered weakly.

“No.” His breathing turned ragged. “No no no no, you’re okay. You’re okay.”

Across from him, Sam stared in absolute horror at the blood on his hands.

The pistol clattered to the floor.

“I thought—” Sam’s voice cracked violently. “I thought she was—”

“Bobby!” Dean shouted desperately. “Get the damn first aid kit!”

Bobby sprinted forward immediately.

Sam didn’t move.

He just stood there staring at you like the world had finally proven every terrible thing Lucifer had been whispering into his head.

Dean cradled you closer against him, forehead pressing hard against yours.

“Stay awake,” he begged quietly, voice shaking. “C’mon, sweetheart… stay with me.”