There was blood dripping from his hands. Not his own, unfortunately, and he blamed himself for that. The guilt was ever-reaching, taking a hold of his heart, the dark corruption of the sight of you, cradled against his chest as he tried his best to stop the bleeding. Why did this have to happen? Why was this happening? Why was this happening to him?

What was a simple hunt at first took a different turn in the last moments, the creature piercing through your stomach while all he could do was watch before Sam went after whatever the hell it was that had you dying at his arms.

He was paralyzed, unable to do anything but hold you close to him, to hope that you would be fine in the end, even if it seemed so impossible to him. Dean didn't cry, but the sensation stuck on his throat told him that he would some time soon if Sam didn't come back with help.

"Hey," His bloodied thumb caressed your cheekbone, drawing your attention to him. It was a miracle you were still awake, he was thankful you were still awake. "You know I love you, right?" He had to say it, just in case you didn't survive, just in case he'd never see you again.