Supernatural One Shots

That's My Girl i/f

"Where the hell are you?" Dean's voice yells through the phone.

"Relax, Dean," you say to your older brother.

"Relax? I wake up, Baby's gone, and you're no where to be found! You didn't answer the phone –"

"Couldn't exactly answer the phone in the middle of a vamp's nest, could I?" You slide the machete into its rightful place in the trunk.

"A vamp's –? You were hunting vampires?" He sounds much calmer now but you can hear Sam shout "What?" in the background. Dean laughs. "We thought you were drunk at a party with a guy or something."

Despite the phone not being on speaker on their end, you can hear Sam. "That doesn't make it better, Dean! She could've gotten killed! Gimme the phone." You didn't expect this reaction from Sam. Then again, you didn't expect to got caught; it's not the first time you've hunted without their knowledge. "(Y/N), what the hell were you thinking?" Before you can answer, he asks, "Where are you? Are you okay?"

"I'll be back soon," you say evasively. "Gotta go; my battery's about to die." You hang up before he can say anything else.

• • •

The boys are waiting outside when you get back. Sam's got his signature bitchface on; Dean's clearly hiding a smile. Sam's glare is replaced by fear when he sees the blood all over your shirt. "Is that your blood?" He rushes forward.

"No, but this is." You lift up your arm, showing his the now red sleeve. Sam pulls your arm toward him gently to see it better.

He turns, his glare now fixed on Dean. "Are you happy now? (Y/N)'s hurt." He looks back at you, eyes searching your face, examining the bruise on your cheek and the thin cut on your jaw.

Dean shrugs. "You gank all the vamps?" You smile and nod. "That's my girl." He returns the smile.

Sam grabs your uninjured arm and starts dragging you back inside. "Don't encourage her, Dean. This is serious."

Dean winks at you as you go by and gives you a thumbs up.

Once you get inside, Sam gives you an icepack for your face and sets up the stuff for stitches. The ice stings at first, but then it starts to numb your injuries. Dean sits in the chair to your right. "So how was it?"

"I'm ready to start," Sam says. Your heart speeds up at that one little sentence. You can tell there's uncontrolled fear in your eyes just by Dean's reaction. He grabs your hand, a rare gesture for the oldest Winchester. He takes the ice pack from you and sets it aside.

Somehow, this is your first time getting stitches. You've seen Sam and Dean do it before to themselves or each other. They even taught you how to do it. Having it done, however, is completely different.

You'll never forget the first time you saw Sam seriously injured. How his face contorted in pain. The sounds he made even after he finally passed out...

"Hey, hey, focus on me," Dean says. He grips your hand tightly. "How many vamps did you take on?"

"What?" The random question throws you off.

"How many?" he repeats.

"I thought there were two, but it was three."

Sam makes a displeased noise. Dean looks pointedly down at your arm and nods to Sam. You flinch as Sam starts cleaning the wound. It's cold and it hurts. Dean grips your hand tighter. "Did you behead them on the first try?"

"I – I don't – I didn't," you stutter.

"Shh, it's okay." Clearly, asking you questions isn't going to help calm you down, so he starts talking. "I didn't with my first vamp. I got its head about halfway off. It was in pain, but it kept going after me. It looked ridiculous." Dean laughs, but it sounds a little forced. You jerk a little as Sam starts cleaning more inside the cut. Tears well in your eyes, unbidden. Dean let's go of your hand suddenly and gets up. "Now would be a good time for you to get drunk for the first time, don't you think?"

"Dean," Sam says warningly.

"What do you wanna do then, Sam? Huh?" he asks angrily.

"Whatever. What were you thinking?" Sam asks, drawing your attention back to him.

"You won't let me do anything." It sounds childish but it's true. "All I get to do is research and clean weapons. You hardly even let me train. Dean said –"

"Oh, 'Dean said'" he interrupts you.

"Yeah. Dean trusts me. Unlike you."

Sam leans back in his chair. "You think I don't trust you?"

"Or you think I'll be a crappy hunter."

"No. No. It's not that at all." His voice is less harsh now. "I'm afraid you'll get hurt 'cause a ghost gets the drop on you, or because me and Dean aren't careful enough." He points to your arm. "I was afraid of this."

Dean returns then with two glasses and a bottle of whiskey – the good kind. He sits down and pours the liquor, a little bit filling the bottom of each glass. "So, I figure it's better that this is your first time getting stitches instead of your first time having sex."

"Dean!" Sam admonishes him.

"Not for me," you say.

"At least you get to be drunk. You won't remember a thing." Dean holds up his glass and you tap yours against his. "Down the hatch." Dean takes a sip but you swallow yours all at once, craving the numbness the drink offers.

It burns as it goes down and you cough. Dean laughs. "You like this crap?"

He shrugs. "You get used to it."

"Uh, no, you won't," Sam says to you. "We don't need another 'functioning alcoholic' in this family."

"Touché."

You slide the glass towards Dean. "Hit me."

He looks surprised, but nods and gives you more. You knock it back. "You just killed three vamps on your first solo hunt and now you're getting stitches for the first time. You can have a damn pony for all I care."

"You get one more," Sam corrects him. After the last one, you're feeling a little lightheaded and warm.

"You get a pass on cursing too," Dean says. "Ready?"

"As ready as I'll ever be." Dean takes your hand in his again.

At the first curse you shout, Dean starts uttering assurances. "It's okay." "It'll be over soon." "Just a few more." etc.

It must've been about halfway through when you passed out. You wake up with your head against Dean's chest. There's a painful tug on your arm as the last stitch is sewn. Without lifting your head, you say, "Is it over?" Only, it comes out as one word, instead of three separate ones.

Dean's chest falls as he sighs in relief at knowing you're awake. "It's over," he confirms.

Still groggy, you lift your head and look around. Sam runs an alcohol swab over the stitches a few times and then wraps it.

"Let's get you to bed, kid," Dean says. He lifts your uninjured arm over his shoulder and helps you stand up. The two of you walk down the hall toward your room. Well, Dean walks while you drag your feet across the ground.

"Sam's mad at me," you say as you enter your room.

Rather than denying that, Dean skirts around the issue. "Don't worry about it. He's always mad at me over something and he always gets over it. Give him a few days." Dean lowers you onto the bed and covers you up. "We were worried about you, but you did good, kid. I'm proud of you." He rubs your shoulder. "I'll check on you in a few hours. Get some sleep." Despite the injured arm and stitches, it was a good day. You sleep peacefully.