Dean awoke, his body throbbing with dull pain. It started in his head, intensified as it hit his neck, weakened at his shoulders, seared across his back, and waned as it moved down toward his feet.
He opened his eyes and found himself back in his motel room with a warm blanket spread over his body, his boxers and a t-shirt draped over a near-by chair. He sat up, gasping sharply as the sore muscles in his back protested the movement, and moved to grab his clothes.
Once he was dressed, he moved to the mirror and began assessing his injuries. The bit of his ear that had been bitten off seemed smaller, the cuts on his neck were nothing but nasty scars, and the deep gashes on his back had scabbed over. The eye that had nearly been gouged out of his head was still there, and, though a little bloodshot, he could see out of it, which was good. The skin around it was a bit scraped up, but that would heal with time.
Gotta love the Wolverine thing, he thought, flashing a quick smile at his reflection.
The smile faded, though, as soon as he caught sight of his brother's duffle bag, all packed up and ready to go. "Dean? You're still a werewolf." If Dean knew his brother, and he did, then Sam wasn't going to let it go without an explanation. And 'it was just a theory' wasn't gonna cut it. He was gonna have to come clean. He was going to have to tell the truth, even if it meant that Sam would walk away in terror.
The door to the room opened up and Sam walked in, grimacing at his brother's injuries. "How you doing?"
Dean shrugged. "Better than I should be. That fight would have killed a normal man."
Sammy nodded, sitting down on his bed. "About that-"
"Look, Sam, it was a theory. It just wasn't a very good one. There's no cure."
"I called Bobby. And Josh. And Caleb. Dean, they all said that should have worked. Why didn't you change back?"
Dean sighed and sat down on his own bed, facing his brother. "It was an accident," he whispered.
Sam's eyes went wide. "You didn't."
The older man stared at him, hoping that his brother would pick up on the regret, the pain, the fact that he would have to live with his mistake for the rest of his life. "I couldn't control it."
"But you knew," Sam argued, "you knew what you were."
Dean hung his head. "I locked the motel room door. I tied myself to the bed. I boarded up the windows. But you saw how easily I lifted you up out there last night. I snapped the rope. I broke down the door. When I woke up, I was covered…" he trailed off, looking back up at his brother, searching for understanding. He was surprised when he found it. "I was covered in blood. This woman… I tore her apart, Sammy."
"It wasn't you-"
"But it was me. I went back to my room. I thought about ending it, but I couldn't. I wanted to kill the son of a bitch that made me a monster. I was selfish. More people could have gotten hurt."
"But they didn't. Did they?"
Dean shook his head. "No. I got it under control after that. The memory… what I did… that helps. That helps a lot. It's kind of hard at the get-go, but once the change is done, I'm me. I'm sorry if I hurt you."
Sam lowered his eyes and rolled his shoulders around. "Just a little sore," he finally said.
"So," Dean said softly, looking back at the packed bag, "you heading out?"
"Gotta get back," Sam explained, "I've got an exam coming up."
"You're just gonna leave me like this?"
"Dean, I need to finish school."
The elder nodded. "Yeah. I know. And you can't do that with a monster hanging around."
"You're not-" Sam was cut off by the ringing of his phone in his pocket. He pulled it out and was surprised to see his father's name. "It's dad," he said, glancing up at Dean as the older man shoved his clothes back into his back and headed out the door.
Choosing to ignore his brother, Sammy answered. "Where is it and how soon do you want me there?" The same urgency with which he had answered his father's last call was gone, though.
"Sam. Did you get it?"
"Yeah," Sam replied, glancing toward the closed door, "and I found Dean."
"Dean? Where was he?"
"Tracking it."
"Why'd he take so long to kill it?"
Sammy glanced back at the door, wondering whether or not he should let his brother's secret slip. It was a stupid thing to wonder, really. Their father loved them. He would never consider killing one of his sons, no matter what that son might become when the moon turned full. "He got bitten." There was silence on the other line. "Dad?"
"What?" John barked.
"Yeah. It jumped him and bit him. He got a shot off before it ran away."
"Did you-?"
"We severed the bloodline, yeah, but it didn't work."
"He killed someone?"
"You need to understand-"
"I understand, Sammy," John's voice was harsh and uncaring, too cold for his son's liking, "you need to end it."
"What?"
"He's a monster now, Sam. You need to put him out of his misery."
"Dad, no!" Sam yelled, outraged, "he's not like that. He's in control."
"Just end it." The line went dead. Sam sat on his bed and started at the phone in his hand. He'd spent a lot of his life angry at his father, he'd even claimed to hate the man, but he'd never meant it. Not until today.
He looked back at the door, wondering what was taking Dean so long. He heard the rumble of the engine and crossed the room, throwing the door open in time to see the Impala screaming down the road.
Doggy senses. "Dammit!"