I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader] Book 2

Limbo

Why is it always me getting ripped to shreds?

As soon as the motel room door shut behind us I began trying to pull my bloody shirt off over my head. I exhaled sharply as glass dug deeper into my back with each motion.

"Hey, hey, slow your roll!" Dean demanded. He grabbed both my wrists with one hand and wrestled them back down to my side. "Give Sam and I a chance to sort ourselves out and I'll give you a hand, alright?"

"I'll heal faster if I can get the glass out now," I argued, grunting in frustration as I tried to pull my arms through my shirt sleeves. He once again wrestled my arm down and pinned it to my side with minimal force.

"Work with me here. Sam's cut up to hell and back, and I've got a dislocated-"

"Where's the first aid kit!?" Sam shouted from the bathroom.

"In my bag!" Dean cocked his head over his shoulder to shout back. He turned back to me with worry and frustration in his eyes. "Look, if you'll pop my shoulder back in, I'll- I'll cut your shirt off or something and pick the glass out with some tweezers. But I can't help you like this, and you sure as shit can't help yourself."

I pursed my lips and stared back at him with narrowed eyes. He tipped his head toward me and lifted his brows, indicating for me to make a quick decision – the only decision that made sense, in terms of causing myself the least amount of damage.

I huffed in defeat. "Alright, fine. Sit down." I gestured with my elbow to one of the chairs at the meager table. It hurt to do more than barely lift my arm from my side. Dean flopped dramatically into the seat at an angle. I placed one hand on his shoulder, propped forward out of the joint, and the other on his bicep.

I bit my lip. Fuck, the glass in my back hurt so bad I was worried about the overuse of my strength. I knew my eyes were swimming with gold at the pain, and my teeth itched to sink into something. What if I hurt him, accidentally broke his clavicle, pushed his shoulder too far the other way-?

"I trust you," he said softly.

I swallowed dryly and hesitated. He opened his mouth as if he were about to say something else, and then I pushed.

He grunted in pain and his shoulder slotted back into place. I breathed out a sigh of relief and leaned my forehead against his temple. His good hand patted my thigh reassuringly and he rolled his shoulder to test its range of motion. "Whiskey?"

"Yeah, that'd be great."

He stood and made his way to the kitchen. It was my turn to flop into the chair, straddling it with my chin resting on the backrest.

Dean rifled through cabinets collecting whatever items he felt he needed. I heard his heavy boots thud tiredly across the floor toward the bathroom. "Got that taken care of yourself?" he asked Sam quietly. The younger Winchester grunted in the affirmative, followed by the sound of metal and glass clinking into the sink. "You need these?" Sam grunted in the negative.

I listened to Dean's footsteps approaching again. He stopped behind me and placed his hand on my bicep from behind. My eyes fell on the whiskey bottle that he placed on the table beside me.

"Sam's sewing his arm up. Got some scissors and tweezers from him. Gonna cut your shirt off now."

I nodded in acknowledgment.

The scissors slid through my t-shirt, occasionally catching on a fresh cut hole made by broken glass. I shivered at the sudden cold when he cut out a large square from the back of my shirt.

"So you lost the magic knife, huh?" he spoke up. I cocked my head to the side slightly and saw Sam beside one of the beds. He was searching through Dean's bag, likely for bandages.