I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader]

Stay

It had been three days already, but it felt like minutes. To their surprise, I had refused to allow the boys to take me home. I had barely shared my logic, saying I didn't want to endanger them. That was the most I had said in days.

To say I was shocked by my actions was an understatement. Never had I experienced such brutality, not even with Chikaltio. But it wasn't just the shock that was getting to me, it was the horror as I recalled what I had done. It was so much worse than last time, because this time I was truly angry. The lack of control was what really frightened me, not the action itself.

We had driven as far west as we could the day after and settled in a motel. It was in a rather small farming community in North Dakota. I was thankful the boys were willing to stay with me, although they both seemed rather wary. They understood my situation though, and how much it was weighing on me.

I had been wrapped up in the same thick comforter for two days now as if that could possibly stop me from lashing out if I snapped again. I hadn't left the motel room and the most I moved was walking to the bathroom to take a long shower. At least one of the brothers was with me at all times, though I wasn't sure if it was to make sure I was safe or to make sure they were safe. My hands shook and my lip quivered every time I slowly lifted my gaze to look over at whichever brother was busy babysitting me.

The trip back to the motel the night of the incident was quiet. We had parted ways with Deputy Hudak on relatively good terms - she had agreed not to report the boys, regardless of her knowing Dean's real identity. Her warm eyes kept meeting my ragged form, covered only by one of Dean's emergency flannels and some shorts from the back of his car. I hadn't said a word since he had pulled me out of my rage. Sam had done his best to clean me up and wipe off any dried blood. It was still matted in my hair and caked-on some parts of my arms and face, but I looked slightly less like a murderer. I wanted to thank them - for more than just the clothes - but the words wouldn't flow. It was numbing and claustrophobic all at once.

For once I tolerated the discomfort of the backseat of the Impala. I didn't have the energy to complain. I knew I should have been excited that Sam was back in his rightful seat, but I just couldn't.

The scent of vomit hung in the air, and I believe it belonged to Sam. I couldn't blame him. I had half a mind to empty the contents of my own stomach over what I did.

The moon was up, despite it only being twilight. Normally I would have been frolicking beneath it, especially now that it was nearly full. Tonight, however, I wanted nothing more than to skin myself and hang my pelt as a flag of surrender. The thought of using my furred form made me sick.

I thought I had better control over myself now. I thought I wouldn't let it happen again.

I barely remember entering the motel room. I know I shrugged off any offer of assistance thrown nervously my way, fearing that I may hurt them too. I know now that I never willingly would. They're family.

I say that as though those two words summarize every emotion I felt regarding the Winchesters.

I threw myself face-first onto the couch and curled into a ball before the boys had even set their stuff down. The room was silent for some time. I jumped, feeling a pair of arms lift me up, and hissed at my gentle assailant. The rustling of fabric could be heard and I cracked one bloodshot eye to see Dean pulling back the covers on his bed. Sam carefully deposited me and the brothers worked together to smooth out the blankets. I didn't have the heart to argue.

I fell asleep to the sound of the brothers bickering over who would take the couch, my heart heavy and still covered in caked blood. The next morning I woke in the back seat of the Impala. I didn't remember being carried to the car, or even the start of our drive. I was still in the oversized old clothes that I had been loaned – the checkered flannel was much too big on me.