A/n: This was a request given to me by Rivermoon1487 who asked "Have you seen the tumblr post where Dean is out on a hunting trip with his dad, and he finds out that he is bait? That would be a cool one to read." I was able to hunt down that post and have now seen it. I used it to help me write this request and this is what I came up with. I hope you enjoy it.

Rivermoon1487, I still have your other requests as well and I hope to be able to work on them in the near future. Same for you LilyBolt, I haven't forgotten your funny little request either.

Thank you everyone who reads, reviews, requests, follows, and/or favorites this collection of stories. Thank you jojospn, LilyBolt, and Guest for your recent reviews on the last story.

Language warning.

This takes place when Dean is 17 and Sam is 13, so no spoilers this time.

It's Just A Flesh Wound

"Come on Dean, pick up the pace," John barked not bothering to turn around as he marched through the heavily wooded forest. Dean didn't respond, only obeyed as he forced his aching feet to push forward at a quicker speed. No matter how tired or how sore he was, he wouldn't say a word about either to his father.

They had been hiking around the woods for a good at least 3 hours or so, stopping to break only for a few seconds before treading on. Meanwhile, while they did the leg work, Sam had been left yet again to stay behind at their current motel room. The youngest Winchester had thrown a fit and insisted "it wasn't fair" as he always did. As usual, John hadn't been swayed.

XXX

"I've gone on hunts before, I've even killed a werewolf, well, I mean I helped. Why can't I go with you?" Sam argued as Dean packed his bag for the hunt.

John Winchester sighed, "you aren't ready for this Sam, it's too dangerous."

"But it's not for Dean?" The thirteen year old countered.

"Dean's seventeen, you're barely a teenager."

"So? Dean wasn't even a teenager when he was going on hunts with you. I can help Dad."

John Winchester rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers and sighed. "Sam, I'm not having this fight with you. Dean and I will be back, you stay in this room with the door locked. Do you understand me?" Sam's eyes moved to meet his big brother's who gave a curt nod which the younger son returned with a huff.

"Yes sir," he mumbled.

"We shouldn't be long, you know the drill."

"Yes sir."

"Dean, let's roll," John barked heading towards the door. His eldest zipped up his now packed bag and turned to face his little brother. Sam's arms were crossed over his chest as he stood next to him.

"See you in a bit Sammy, take care of yourself," then to try and lighten up the younger boy's mood he added, "don't do anything I wouldn't do while I'm gone."

"There's nothing you wouldn't do," he retorted with an eye roll. Dean ruffled Sam's hair, resulting in the boy pushing his sibling's arm away from him and snapping at the gesture, before the eldest followed their father out the door.

XXX

John came to a sudden halt causing Dean to almost stumble into him. Without saying a word, he motioned for his son to be quiet, placing a finger to his lips. Dean obeyed and squinted over at him puzzled. They stood in the silence for a bit longer before either of them spoke again.

"Alright," the father whispered to his eldest, "stay here." Dean nodded to signal him that he understood and John crept away down through the trees and out of sight. The seventeen year old stood his ground as he was told, only pivoting his foot or twisting himself at the torso to peer around. As he stood there he realized what his father had been trying to bring to his attention. The silence was eerie. Deafening. Not a bird nor even a fly could be heard. The teen gulped back an uneasy feeling that had grown from the pit of his stomach to a tight feeling in his chest.

His father had told him they were hunting a werewolf, which had seemed odd to Dean due to the lack of moon.

"This is a pure bred, they turn whenever they damn well feel like it," John had informed.

But even if that were true, and the eldest son never questioned his father, something didn't seem right.

A good ten minutes went by and John still hadn't returned. With every minute of his absence, the knot in Dean's chest grew tighter and tighter. He wouldn't say he was scared, he was never scared of a hunt, however he was bothered. Now getting ansy, the teen began to creep over towards the direction his father had gone. However, before he got a chance to move much, he heard a noise somewhere in the woods. His head snapped in the direction of the sound and he felt his heartbeat quicken.

"Dad?" He called out. It sounded again, and this time, it wasn't recognized by any noise a human made nor did it sound like a werewolf. Slowly Dean pulled out his handgun loaded with silver bullets and aimed it towards where the noise was coming from, keeping his eyes like a hawk for any signs of movement. He tried to keep his breathing and hands steady as panic started to claim him at the thought that something terrible had happened to his dad and he was now left alone to fight whatever it was. Or maybe it was something else entirely that concerned him about all this.

Everything happened so fast. Dean started to run, but was knocked to the ground by something solid smashing into him which in turn hit him so hard, that the gun was thrown from his grasp. He landed with a thud on the dirt below and narrowly missed colliding his skull with a tree. Dean fell onto his back and managed to land wrong on his foot, twisting his ankle. He hissed in pain but kept his attention on his surroundings. His eyes fell on his firearms and he rolled over onto his stomach and began to crawl on his hands and knees to retrieve it. The thing sounded again and he managed to snatch up his handgun just in time to turn around and come face to face with the source of noise, it's eyes peered down at him. It definitely wasn't any werewolf Dean had ever seen. It was pale, nude, thin, and tall. Something that would be sure to haunt the nightmares of anyone who sees it.

John's eldest squeezed the trigger and fired two shots into the thing's chest. It let out a high pitch screech and grabbed Dean by the arm, hauling him off the ground. His green eyes grew wide in horror as he was raised up to the creatures eye level. It snarled at him and the next thing the teen knew, he felt a burning sensation as though multiple dangers were being dug into his side. He let out a scream and tried to throw a punch aimed at its head with his free arm, but before it could connect with any part of the monster, it flung him away. There was a sickening pop and the teen screamed again. Landing in the dirt once more, Dean hissed and cradled what was certain to be a dislocated shoulder. With the thing making its way back towards him, all he could do was use the heel of his good foot to scoot himself backwards. Dean hadn't managed to make it far before his back hit a tree. He stared up at the thing, breaths coming in short and heavy, eyes wide as he waited for the inevitable.

There was another screech and Dean could feel unexpected heat. The creature went up in flames, causing the teen to try and shield his eyes from the bright hot light with his good arm. The horrid noise stopped and he slowly uncovered his face to look down at a chard corpse now laying on the ground before him where the thing had been, and then up at his father who was standing over the remains with a homemade flamethrower in one hand and a lighter in the other. He quickly tucked the latter in his pocket and approached Dean.

"Dean, are you ok?" He asked as his eyes examined him. With the monster dead, the teen could feel the full affects of what it had done to him.

"'M fine," he mumbled.

"Come on, let's get you up and taken care of." John bent down and as carefully as he could, helped Dean up to his feet. The teen hissed as his twisted ankle touched the ground and instantly retracted it.

"Dad, where were you?" He questioned as they started off back to the Impala.

"I was scouting the area where I thought the thing was." Something about the way he said it made Dean feel slightly unsure.

"It wasn't a werewolf," the teen reported.

"I know."

"What was it Dad?" The boy's eyes fell on his father as he limped.

"A wendigo."

"A wendigo?" Dean echoed turning his attention back to where he was going.

"It started with the Native Americans. They were once humans who turned to cannibalism which then turned them into what you saw. They're fast, strong, and clever. The only thing that seems to do the trick when it comes to killing the bastards, is fire." Dean wanted to question his father further but he knew that the inquires he had were the kind that might set him off, or worse, he would answer and it wouldn't be the response that would put his mind at ease.

The rest of the walk back was silent with the exception of the occasional hissing through his teeth. Once the Impala finally came into sight, John quickened his pace, in turn making Dean do the same. He fumbled around in his pocket for the keys and got to work on unlocking the door and setting his eldest in the passenger side.

"Alright, hold on son," John replied marching around to the back of the vehicle. Dean waited for a few seconds as his father rummaged through the trunk and add in the flamethrower. A loud cuss and the slamming of the car made him squirm uncomfortably.

"What is it Dad?" His eyes were wide as he looked over at his father who had climbed into the driver's side and slammed that door shut as well.

"The med kit is missing from the car. It better be at the fucking motel." John slapped the palm of hand on the steering wheel and cussed again. He turned to look in the back seat and found a rag laying on the floor. Here," he reached back to pick it up, handing it to his son. "Put pressure on that wound," Dean obeyed, squeezing his eyes shut as the scratchy cloth touched his injury. Wasting no time, John pressed down on the gas pedal with force and sped off back to the motel. They weren't in the car long before the teen's eyes began to flutter and his head lolled to the side. "Dean? Dean? Hey! You need to stay awake. Hold on."

XXX

"Finally, what took you guys so-Dean?" The youngest son stood staring at his too pale brother who had been leaning heavily on John. His left hand was clamped to his right side which Sam noticed was stained with what could only be blood. Despite his brother looking like a creature feature victim, the corners of his lips slid upward and a smile touched his jaded green eyes.

"Hey Sammy."

"Oh my God, Dean. Are you alright? What happened?"

"Sam, go get the med kit," John ordered as he slowly walked his eldest son towards the bathroom.

"It's in the Impala," Sam replied. "Why didn't you fix him up earlier? How long has he been like this?" John spun around to address his youngest, causing Dean to let out a groan in pain at the rapid sudden movement. Sam cringed.

"Its not in the car, I already checked. You think I would leave your brother in this condition if I had had access to it?" He snapped. Realization clicked in and before his youngest could retort he added, "do you mean to tell me you two left the kit at that motel in Denver after that haunting? I only had the one."

"No I'm telling you it's in the Impala. I stashed it under the seat after the hunt in Denver," Sam informed. John dug around his jacket pocket and tossed his youngest the keys to the car.

"You better hope so. Next time, put it back where it belongs," he responded. The thirteen year old opened his mouth but a glance at Dean made him decide against saying whatever he was going to say and instead bolted out the front door. John continued to move his eldest into the bathroom where he lowered him to sit on the toilet seat, murmuring an apology as Dean let out another sound of pain.

Sam returned with the kit like he had mentioned and John got to work on cleaning Dean's wounds, starting by stitching up the claw marks. All the while, his youngest peered over their father's shoulder.

"Sam, go wait outside in the living room. I can't work with you hovering over me."

"Let me do it Dad," he replied. It wasn't that John wasn't good at stitching up his boys after a nasty run in with a monster, but with John clearly in an agitated mood, he feared that their father wasn't being as tender with his sibling as he would have liked.

"God damn it Sam, out!"

"It's ok Sammy," Dean coaxed in a gentle voice. Sam didn't like it, but he turned and headed back into the living room where he waited for their father to finish fixing up his brother. He watched from his spot on the couch as John finished up the stitches then had Dean get up so that he could address his dislocated arm. The eldest griped the sink with both hands and Sam could see his eyes were squeezed shut.

"Alright Dean, on the count of three. One...two..." there was a popping sound and Dean let out a small yell. The youngest noticed however that his brother had quickly tried to silence himself, clearly trying to prove to their father that he was able to take the pain.

Now completed, John clapped a hand on Dean's good shoulder and grinned. "You good?" He asked his eldest. Dean nodded but Sam could see his brother was still hurting and not what he would deem as "good" at all.

"Yes sir, I'm good."

John's smile widened, "that's my boy. Now, go get some rest. I'll go get you some ice." As John exited the motel with the ice bucket in hand, Sam popped up from the couch to lend a hand to Dean who had started slowly towards the bed.

"I got it Sam," he replied. But Sam insisted anyways, wrapping his brother's arm around his shoulder, he helped guide him to the mattress. Once he was seated and certain he wasn't in danger of ripping his stitches, Sam let go.

"Dean, what happened out there?"

Dean didn't answer right away.

He had gone on a werewolf hunt with John, only it hadn't been a werewolf. His father had told him to stay there while he wandered off into the forest. Dean remembered starting to worry something terrible had happened to him and then he remembered the noise. Shortly after is when everything went sideways.

He was attacked and the silver bullets had done nothing but piss it off. Then their father had shown up and burned the damn thing which was a lucky break that he had had a homemade flamethrower on hand. Dean remembered being relieved that their father was alright and of course the painful car ride home. But there was something else that had come to mind. Maybe he couldn't believe it so he told himself otherwise, tried to make up an excuse and block out the truth. His father must have known what they were really hunting from the get go which means John had used him as bait.

"Dean?" The eldest blinked and brought himself back to the motel room where he saw a pair of hazel eyes glued to him waiting for an answer with a look of concern etched on his face. Dean's gaze softened and he gave his little brother a weary smile, trying to keep his eyes from watering at the truth of what had happened. Sam didn't need another reason to argue with their father and besides, John wouldn't have used Dean as bait if he didn't think he could handle it. He would never put him in any REAL danger...right?

"I uh-I messed up on the hunt. I thought it was a werewolf but it turns out it was a wendigo," Dean explained. "Dad he uh-he saved me."

"Did Dad know?" Sam asked the very question Dean had wanted to but hadn't. It was clear to him now what the answer was.

"I don't think so," he lied.

Although he wasn't fully convinced with the explanation he was being given, the younger teen decided to let it be for the time being. Dean needed rest, not drama. "Well I'm glad you're back home safe. Are you going to be alright?"

"Yeah," Dean replied with another smile that he had hoped instilled comfort in his sibling, "of course I'll be alright. It's just a flesh wound Sammy."

A/n: I hope you enjoyed this story.

Guest: I'm sorry to make you sad, but you're welcome all the same. Both boys really should be allowed to grieve, I feel bad that they don't. I always look forward to hearing from you. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing. You're awesome!