Supernatural Preferences

Injured DeanxReader

The Winchesters had finally let you start hunting with them and you were a natural. You could hit a werewolf in between the eyes with a blindfold on (you, not the werewolf). So when you asked to go on the Wendigo hunt Dean agreed happily.

Later that night you were abandoned in the cave with a gun with a hand-made flamethrower and a flashlight. The boys had been a little faster than you, storming on ahead, Dean anxiously looking over his shoulder for you, until they had gone so far you could no longer see or hear them. Knowing that could never mean anything good, you forged on, looking for any clues that could lead you to Sam and Dean.
A blood-soaked scrap of plaid. Bingo.
Venturing further into the cave, you came across the boys unconscious and hanging from chains, their hands suspended above their heads and their faces bruised and bloodied.

"You stupid mofos," you sigh at them. "I told you to wait for me." Naturally they didn't respond due to being knocked out cold.
You struggled with the chains for a while, your fingers blistering and the joints in your knuckles locking up before you finally released them from their shackles.
"Alright, now let's get out of- crap." Your escape plan was squandered when you turned around to come face to face with the Wendigo. It knocked the flamethrower out of your hands and leapt forward in the blink of an eye, throwing you down to the floor and leaving a large gash in your chest before turning to tie the boys up again, assuming you were dead already.

Crawling silently towards your only weapon, you could only watch as the Wendigo want to take a bite out of your boyfriend.

"Hey asshole!" You shout, catching its attention. "Don't fucking touch him."
The flamethrower, now back in your hands, shot a burst of flames forwards, igniting the Wendigo and scorching your face with heat, but you didn't care. Once it was dead you managed to get the boys down, sweat dripping down your temple and onto the collar of your shirt.

"You boys eat too much," you groan as you heave them to your level and sling one of their arms over each of your shoulders.

Grunting with exhaustion, you manage to walk them to the Impala before throwing them in the back seats and driving to the closest motel you could find. Dumping Sam on the single bed, you collapse onto the double with Dean, deciding to rest your sore muscles before straining yourself again.

"Alright, let's see what the damage is." You mutter to yourself as you unbutton the boys' shirts and rip through the remaining fabric with your knife. Dabbing at their wounds with an alcohol-soaked rag, you finally managed to clean them up. Luckily there were no serious injuries, they were just going to have headaches when they woke up.

Now you just needed to tend to yourself. Your back was pretty scratched up from your fall and you obviously still had that gaping wound slashed across your sternum and ribs. Gritting your teeth, you splash the remaining alcohol on your chest. You bit down hard on your lip, drawing a little blood, and try not to whimper in pain.

"Y/N?" Dean called from behind you.

You turned around and saw the worry in his eyes.

"Hey, babe. Mind cleaning my cuts?" You ask him, gesturing to your back.

"No problem. So uh, what happened?" He asked as he put one hand on your waist and started washing your back with the rag.

"Well you and Sam completely ditched me, got knocked out and taken away, I found you both in a cave and burnt that bitch of a Wendigo like fried chicken on a barbecue." You recap.

"That simile made no sense," Dean laughed.

You laughed and then hissed when the cut on your chest ripped at your flesh even more.

"Y/N?" Dean said worriedly, gently turning you around so he could see the wound. "Why didn't you say?"

"I knew you'd be upset if you knew I got hurt," you admitted, squeezing his hand as he splashed whisky on you.

"Y/N, I love you," Dean started, turning to the sink to pick up the needle and thread you used for injuries. "And that means that when you get hurt, I take care of you. And when I get hurt, you carry me and my giant of a brother back to the motel."

You cracked a grin and clenched your fists, digging your nails into your palms as Dean pushed the sewing needle into your flesh. He stitched you up as quickly and as gently as he could, giving you a soft kiss on your forehead once he had finished.

"Let's go relax in bed with tv and beer." He said, leading you into the bedroom.

"What d'you want to watch?" You asked, stretching out on the bed and flipping through the channels.

"Put a movie on," Sam grumbled from the single bed next to you. You reached out and patted his arm, following his advice and changing the channel to an old 80s film.

Dean strolled over to the bed, three beers in his hands. He tossed one to Sam and sat next to you, cracking open a bottle and passing it to you.

"How're you feeling, Sam?" You asked the younger Winchester.

"I ache everywhere and I need at least another four drinks, but I'm okay. How did we get here anyway?"

You were about to answer but Dean beat you to it.

"Oh Y/N kicked ass. She ganked that wendigo and carried us back to the Impala by herself." He boasted. He wrapped an arm around you and kisses you cheek. "I couldn't be more proud of her."

"Shut up, you big softy, we all need sleep if we want to get to Boulder tomorrow." You said, finishing your beer and walking to the bathroom.so you could change into leggings and one of Dean's old Def Leppard shirts. The loose cotton was a lot more comfortable in your new stitches.

"Y/N's probably right-" Sam started.

"Probably? Sammy, I'm always right." You joked, scrambling under the bedsheets and tucking yourself under Dean's arm.

All three of you slowly drifted off and you smiled sleepily as you felt Dean's arm wrap itself around you, careful not to apply any pressure on your chest. Maybe getting hurt wasn't so bad with Dean.