The hunt had been brutal, a nest of ghouls that wouldn't go down easy. Back at the motel, Dean’s recounting the gory details with a little too much enthusiasm, mimicking the ghouls' snarls and lunges. Suddenly, the room starts to spin. Your breath hitches, and a cold sweat breaks out on your forehead. The images Dean is painting become too vivid, too real. It’s like you’re back in that graveyard, surrounded by snarling monsters.

"Whoa, you alright?" Dean's voice cuts through the rising panic. He must have seen the change in your face.

"I...I can't..." you gasp, clutching your chest. Your heart hammers against your ribs, threatening to burst free.

Dean's expression softens, the hunter replaced by a look of pure concern. He kneels in front of you, his voice gentle. "Hey, hey, look at me. It's okay. You're safe. We're safe." He guides your gaze to his eyes, their familiar green a grounding force in the swirling chaos. "Breathe with me," he instructs, demonstrating slow, deep breaths. "In...and out..."