Dean bit his lip as he tugged the curved needle through his ragged and torn flesh, noting the blood that seeped from the edge of the wound and ran across his stomach. Fifteen stitches. It took fifteen flippin' stitches to keep his guts from spilling out. There were reasons that you weren't supposed to hunt alone and having to perform your own first aid was one of them; Dean thought bitterly to himself once again wishing his Dad was with him. Dean had barely been able to remain conscious while putting in the stitches thanks to the amount of blood he had lost and the general exhaustion that the hunt had caused him.
He had been hunting a werewolf when its claw had gotten a little too close for comfort. Luckily he had been able to waste the thing before the severity of the cut made itself known. After salting and burning the bones, Dean had dragged his half conscious self back to the Impala holding his stomach to staunch the flow of bleeding as he went.
When Dean finally arrived at his motel he wearily pulled himself from the Impala, grabbing the first aid kit on the way in. He had to fight the urge to crash on the bed but he knew that if he did he might not wake up in the morning; so instead he poured himself a shot of whiskey and went to work cleaning and stitching the large slice in his stomach.
A strangled cry escaped Dean's throat as he poured whiskey over his wound. After regaining his breath he moved the bottle up to his lips and drank deeply, attempting to take the edge off of the pain so he could sleep. The hunter quickly finished the rest of his work by wrapping his wound tightly and it was only a couple of minutes before his weary body fell into an exhausted sleep.
Dean groaned as daylight peeped through the slanted blinds, squeezing his eyes tighter shut against the harsh light before relenting and opening them. Dean eased himself up feeling the strain that the motion placed on his stitches and the pain that it produced deep in his abs. Yep, today was going to be a fun day. He rubbed his hand across his face as he eased himself out of bed to a standing position, hopefully a nice hot shower would relax his taut muscles.
Twenty minutes later the young hunter was showered, packed and on his way out of town. His wound had stung in the shower but it hadn't looked infected. Dean was ready for some R&R. He was just passed the city limits when he saw the lights: red and blue, flashing ahead of him on the road. "What in the world?" Dean questioned under his breath quietly pulling off the road, left his vehicle and approached the scene ahead of him.
"Officer Jackson. You sure got here fast this morning." The police sheriff greeted, offering Dean his hand.
"Yeah, I was in the area." Dean replied distractedly glancing behind the sheriff. "I missed most of the memo, what are we looking at?"
The sheriff ran his hand through his hair turning around to once again gaze upon the bloody scene in front of him. "Same thing we have been seeing. Heart's missing." Dean nodded. "Mind if I go take a look?"
The sheriff motioned toward the body, "Be my guest."
Dean walked away from the scene fifteen minutes later, muttering to himself once he was out of earshot of the men working the scene. "I killed the stupid thing, but no of course it had to be the one werewolf to hunt in a pack." Dean jerked the door of the Impala open and slid in not remembering the large wound in his abdomen. The hunter leaned his head against the steering wheel his hand pressing against his stomach, waiting for the pain to subside but simply groaned when he felt the wet warmth that seemed to weave its way through his fingers. "This is not my day." He muttered before pulling a U-Turn and heading back to his recently checked out of motel.
Sam snuggled further into the warmth enjoying the freedom of stretching out completely. Having spent the majority of his childhood compacted in a moving car and sharing motel beds with his brother, his dorm bed seemed to be a huge treat even after 2 years of having it. Sam cracked his eyes open allowing the light to wake him up fully. Waking up late also wasn't a luxury that he had grown up with unless he was injured or sick that was and during those times he was normally being consistently woken up to catch for worsening concussions.
The younger Winchester smiled as he swung his feet over the side of the bed feeling the familiar feel of the rug that Jess had given him their freshman year after complaining about the frigid temperature of his floor. "Good morning, Mr. Winchester. You sure look to be in a good mood this morning." Sam smiled even more broadly turning back towards the center of the bed taking in the teasing face before him. "Well, Miss Moore, it's hard not to smile after such a night as last night." "What exactly happened again?" Jess teased coyly. "Well I suppose I could give you a play by play." Sam teased back leaning down to kiss Jess's smiling mouth.
