Hell's Book of Random One-shots

Don't Mess with a Winchester - Request

Dean rushed inside, trying not to bump or jostle you as Sam held the door open, keeping to one side to be sure neither of you collided with him.

He was a little more careless when he set you on the bed, though he wanted to be gentle he also wanted to work with haste and that led to him more dropping you onto the mattress than setting you down with gentle ease.

You understood why but in the moment you didn't appreciate the hard landing, the three deep gashes in your side screaming in pain as you let out a blood loss induced groan, unable to say much more in protest.

The blood was already seeping into the bedsheet beneath you, your shirt sticking to the wounds in what had started out as uncomfortable but quickly become numb as you lost all colour in your skin and your energy dwindled.

Dean was kneeling beside you with the hunter's first aid kit in the blink of an eye, his face tense as Sam stood by the door, keeping an eye out for any further possibilities of attack as your eldest brother worked.

"I told you to stay here," he said through gritted teeth, starting to peel your shirt away from the wound.

"B-but..you..." you closed your eyes and took in a shuddered breath, your chest feeling heavy, "you...w-were in da-danger."

"Me? Us?" He snapped, shaking his head as he practically ripped the kit open, "you fit the vic description more than us, that's why I specifically said for you to stay behind."

"Dean," Sam started, taking a step closer only to be cut off by said Winchester shooting him a look over his shoulder.

They blamed themselves no doubt, as was the Winchester habit.

No matter what happened or how uncontrollable the circumstances, they would blame themselves for anything and everything, a family trait you had been lucky enough to miss.

At least, so far, you still had time to catch up.

"Look, I get you're pissed but you need to calm down," Sam reasoned, though Dean only shook his head and grabbed a pile of bundled up cloth.

"I'm going to murder that son of a bitch," he mumbled angrily, tearing the cloths into strips. "I need alcohol."

Sam gave him his 'concerned Sammy' frown then dashed across the room, grabbing a bottle of the cheap stuff they bought for wound cleaning before unscrewing the cap to aid Dean's efforts in quick wound fixing.

Dean shifted on his knees and took a glance at your face, letting out a long breath.

"This'll sting like a bitch but you know the drill by now."

He didn't give you a chance to brace yourself before beginning the long, cleaning process.

Upon contact of the liquid you tensed up and curled your fingers into your palms, letting out a long and pain filled groan.

"I know, I know," he cooed quietly, his brows furrowed in both determination and worry, "just bear with me."

Sam sat on the end of the bed to sterilise and thread the hook that Dean was going to use to patch you up.

By the time Dean was done with cleaning up the worst of the blood and other potentially infection inducing residue you had fallen still, though the rise and fall of your chest gave them solace that you were merely out of it and hadn't succumbed to your wounds.

Not that that would stop them from worrying about just that happening between now and when you arose.

Dean's hands were shaking as he took the hook from Sam, causing the younger Winchester to frown.

"Dean, maybe you should take a breather and let me do that."

"No," he shook his head, "just...hold the edges together, will you?"

Sam gave a small nod and got up to move to the side of the bed, sitting beside your shoulder to give him a better angle to hold the wound together to make it easier for Dean to secure the skin together in crooked stitches.

The silence in the room was suffocating but Sam knew better than to interrupt Dean's concentration and self-loathing, instead he watched as the bundle of blood soaked rags built up on the floor at Dean's feet.

Another agonising ten minutes crawled by before Dean was satisfied enough to cover the wound with a gauze and wrap a bandage around your torso to hold everything in place, then he sat back on his heels and stare at his fingers that were tacky with blood.

His hands were yet again coated in the blood of one of his younger siblings who he had let get hurt.

He clenched his hands into fists just as Sam leaned forward to rest his hand on Dean's shoulder, silently offering a form of comfort as Dean stared at the floor.

"Stay here," Dean eventually said, voice quiet and far away as he stood up and moved to the small kitchen area to wash off the blood.

"You're not going after it alone," Sam protested, standing from his spot.

"That kelpie bastard is going down, tonight," he replied resolutely while turning to face Sam, wiping his hands down as his eyes drifted towards your still figure on the bed. "Whether you go or I do, I don't care, but it's happening tonight and one of us has to stay here."

Sam looked from Dean to you then sighed, running his hand through his hair as his eyes flittered back and forth.

Then he blew out another, stronger gust of breath as he nodded and dropped his hand back down.

"Yeah, yeah, you're right, okay...you go and I'll clean up and keep an eye on things here."

Dean didn't say another word, only nodded and then stormed out, letting the door slam behind him.

Sam stared after him then looked down at you over his shoulder, frown still in place.

The silence was deafening now that he was left to his own worry and he felt helpless, knowing that there was little he could do until you woke up.