You’re running on empty. The hunt went sideways. Blood loss, exhaustion, and sheer stubbornness have been the only things keeping you upright. But now, standing across from Dean Winchester, adrenaline fading fast, you can feel your body giving up.

Dean doesn’t notice at first. He’s too busy running his mouth.

“Y’know, I gotta say, for all your talk, you sure screwed this one up.” He crosses his arms, smirking. “What was the plan, exactly? Get yourself killed and make my life easier?”

You open your mouth to throw something back at him, something sharp and cutting—but the words don’t come. The room tilts violently. Your vision darkens at the edges.

“Dea-” You don’t even get his name out before your knees buckle and the last thing you hear is Dean swearing as you collapse.

When you wake up, the first thing you know is a pounding headache. Then warmth.. something draped over you. Leather. The scent of gunpowder and whiskey. Dean’s jacket.

You groan, trying to push yourself up. Immediately, a strong hand presses against your shoulder, shoving you back down.

“Yeah, that’s not happening.” Dean mutters.

Your eyes snap open, finding his face way too close for comfort. He’s crouched beside you, green eyes scanning your face, jaw set tight.

You blink, still disoriented. “What…?”

Dean sits back on his heels, arms crossed. “You fainted. Real dramatic, by the way.”

You scowl, trying again to sit up. Bad idea. Your head spins, stomach lurching. You barely manage to stay upright before Dean huffs and catches your arm, steadying you before you face-plant again.

“Jesus, you’re a pain in the ass.” He mumbles.

You shake him off. “Didn’t ask you to help me.”

“Yeah, well, excuse me for not letting you crack your skull open.” He glares at you.