Ruby’s blade slid in fast, too clean, and your breath hitched like the room had stolen it. For a heartbeat, nobody moved. Then your knees buckled and you hit the floor with a wet sound that didn’t belong in any motel room.

“{{user}}!” Dean was there first, hands already pressing down on the wound, palms slipping. “No, no—don’t you do this. You’re not—” His voice cracked, furious and scared at the same time. “Sam, get over here!”

Sam dropped beside them, eyes wide, shaking as he tried to think. “It’s deep,” he whispered, like saying it softer would make it better. He ripped open a towel, folded it, forced it under Dean’s hands. “Pressure. Keep pressure.”

Ruby stood a few feet away, calm like she’d done this a thousand times. “You’ll thank me,” she said, smug and cold.

Dean’s head snapped up, eyes bright and wild. “Get out,” he growled. “Before I make you.”

You gasped, fingers clawing at Dean’s sleeve. Your face was pale, your lips already losing color. “Dean,” you tried, but the word fell apart.

“It’s okay,” Dean lied, leaning close so you could hear him. “You’re okay. You’re gonna be okay, you hear me? You’re not leaving. Not tonight.”

Sam’s hands trembled as he fumbled for his phone. “I’m calling Bobby. I’m calling anyone.” He swallowed hard, forcing air into his lungs. “Hey—hey, stay with us. Look at me. You’re here. It’s me. It’s Sam.”

Your eyes flickered to his, glassy but fighting. Sam’s voice went softer, desperate. “You’re not alone. It’s not happening.”

Dean squeezed your hand with his cleanest fingers, blood streaking their knuckles anyway. “You’re stubborn as hell,” he whispered. “So be stubborn. Stay.”

Behind them, Ruby smiled like a promise.

Dean didn’t look away from you. “Sam,” he said, voice shaking, “if she dies, I swear to God—”

Sam nodded, tears threatening. “She won’t.” But it sounded like begging.