Disclaimer: Sad as it is, I'm only borrowing. They're all Kripke's.
Author's Note: A memory of Dean's. One Winchester's take on the family relationships. Let me know if I should continue - Reviews, please!
Dad's yelling something at me, but I can't hear it. What I can hear is its growl, and what I can smell is its rank blood-and-flesh breath. I can feel its claws in my chest, its hot breath on my neck. Dad's too far away, he'll never make it in time. I'm an inch away from death and all I'm thinking is, who's going to take Sam to his soccer game on Thursday? Who's going to help Dad kill this thing after it rips me to shreds? That's when I hear the engine. The headlights nearly blind me. They stun the Skinwalker long enough for me to get out from under it. I roll away and I hear the car hit it, plowing it into some bushes. I see Sammy in the driver's seat, his face white and his hands clenched on the wheel. It's the first time he's driven outside of my lessons at Bobby's. Dad is there burning a clip into the thing in a few seconds. Once he's sure it's dead, he runs over to me. I groan and try to sit up so he'll know I'm okay.
"Dean, are you okay?" he asks immediately. "Talk to me, son."
"I'm all right, Dad," I tell him, even though I sure don't feel like it.
He helps me to my feet, and that's when it starts. "Boy, that was stupid and reckless," he berates me. "If your brother hadn't acted quick, you'd be dead."
"It was sneaking up on you, Dad, I had to do something," I argue weakly, hobbling along while he supports most of my weight. The claw wounds on my chest burn like hell. Blood's getting all over my favorite shirt. Guilt and shame settle in alongside the physical pain.
"I could have handled it. Don't you ever do something dumb like that again, Dean, or I'm taking you off the job." It's a threat with a lot of weight behind it. He opens the door, helping me into the backseat. "Let's get you to the hospital."
Sam slides over to the passenger seat. He's shaking a little. He turns around once Dad has me in the car, leaning over the back of the seat. "Dean, are you all right?" he asks immediately, his doe eyes all fearful.
"Yeah, Sammy, I'm awesome," I tell him, trying not to sound too sarcastic. He's really shaken up. "Thanks for the save. You took that sucker out." He looks slightly relieved.
Dad's outside, lighting the thing on fire. Once it's blazing, he gets in the driver's seat. "We'll come back and clean up the evidence later," he says before he turns to Sammy and gives him a proud look. "Good job, Sam. Quick thinking. You saved your brother's life." I try to remember the last time he gave me a compliment like that. Nothing comes to mind.
We drive back toward civilization, and I'm bleeding all over the seats. I'm not feeling so good, and Sam can tell. He keeps glancing back at me every few seconds. I Love the Night by BOC is playing over the stereo. I don't really like the song, mostly because it makes Dad think about Mom. Plus, it's a little slow and sappy for me. I like the stuff I can rock to.
I know I'm not going to die. I mean, I'm bleeding a lot, but it was about to gnaw on my jugular. After that, those claw gouges are just scratches. Plus, we're almost to the hospital. A few stitches and an overnight stay will have me back on my feet in no time. Or at least back in the hotel room. We pull up to the hospital, and Dad tells us our story. "We were camping up in the woods, and Dean left the tent. It was a bear." It's close enough to the truth. "Sam, help me with your brother." They get me out, throwing my arms over their shoulders, and they basically have to drag me into the ER. It's not that hard because Sammy's growing like a weed, just a couple of inches shorter than me. I'm dizzy and about as weak as a kitten.
As soon as we get in there, people start swarming around me, getting me on a gurney and cutting my shirt off. I try to argue when I remember that it's my favorite. I guess it's ruined anyway. They apply pressure until the blood slows down, then they put some stinging stuff on all the cuts to clean them out. They have to numb my whole chest, which feels really weird, but at least I don't feel them sewing me up. They stick a needle in me and start dripping a bag of fluids into my veins to make up for the blood I lost. They tell me I'm real lucky that the claws didn't get any deeper, or I'd be a goner. Then I sleep, because by then I'm too tired to see straight.
They let me out on Wednesday. I go back to the room and get all the rest I can. The next day I get up at seven am and pull on some clothes, one of Dad's loose T-shirts and a pair of Sam's sweatpants, and I wake Sam up. "Get your shiny shorts on, Bro," I order him. "You've got a game in an hour."
He protests like crazy, but in a whisper so we don't wake Dad up. "Dean, you almost got killed, you can't go anywhere yet!"
"I'm fine. The doctors okayed me, didn't they?" I point out.
"Dean, you could pull out your stitches!" he argued.
"How, Sam? I'm just going to be sitting there watching you play. I won't even do the wave, if it makes you happy."
Sam's team loses three to two, but it doesn't matter. What matters is that I'm alive to watch him score a pretty awesome goal, and even sneak in on the wave later on. I even take him out for pizza after they lose, even though he explains that pizza is for the winning team, and the losers get ice cream. Losing sounds like a better deal anyway. He keeps looking at me like I'm going to spring a leak. He shouldn't. He's the one that begged me to come to the game a week ago. He's the reason I'm here.