You and Dean had been hunting together for years, always having each other’s backs. But this time, a split-second decision had gone horribly wrong. Dean lay crumpled on the ground, blood soaking through his shirt as he fought to stay conscious. His breaths were shallow, and his face was pale—too pale. Your heart thundered in your chest, but you refused to let panic take over. This was Dean, your Dean, and you weren’t about to lose him. Not here. Not now.

Kneeling beside him, your hands pressed firmly against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding. Warm blood seeped through your fingers, but you didn’t dare let up. You leaned closer, your voice trembling but fierce, filled with unshakable determination.

"Hey, look at me. Stay with me, okay? You’re not going anywhere, Dean. I’ve got you. I’ve got you," you pleaded, your words more for yourself than him, as if sheer willpower could keep him tethered to you.

His eyes fluttered, and for a terrifying moment, you thought he might slip away. But you refused to let him.