Summary:

Dean and Sam take out a werewolf pack, but Dean gets hurt and hides it from Sam.

Notes:

Prompts: Unhealthy coping mechanism; healed wrong; "it's not my blood"

Using ALL the prompts today! I'm still not feeling great, and it's showing because I'm still a day behind. Hopefully I can get caught back up!

Chapter 6: Not Realizing They're Injured

The werewolf swiped at Dean, barely missing the mark as the hunter ducked. He took advantage of the sudden opening and drove the silver knife straight through the wolf's heart. Blood spurted out, coating his hand and making his grip on the blade slip slightly as he pulled the weapon out. The werewolf collapsed, dead before it hit the ground.

Dean took a gulp of air, his heart beating wildly in his chest from the adrenaline still viewing through his body. After confirming the wolf was down, the hunter focused on his next priority. Green eyes immediately turned to look for Sam, quickly finding him pulling his own blade out of the last werewolf.

"You good?" he called.

Sam nodded, his hair flopping into his face with the motion. Dean was about ready to sneak into his baby brother's room and cut it in his sleep-

"Um, Dean? Areyougood? That's a lot of blood on your shirt."

The older Winchester looked down. Oh, that was a lot blood. His blue shirt was now the color of rust.Damn, I liked this shirt, too.

"All good- it's not my blood. Got in close on that last one. Whaddya say we get these puppies burned and get the hell outta here."

It took awhile to clean up the mess. The weather had taken a turn about half way through, crisp sitting air turning chilled with the drizzling rainfall. Thankfully the werewolves had chosen an old cabin that no one would miss, so the Winchesters just put the bodies inside and burned the whole thing down.

The unfortunate part was that instead of just dealing with the five wolves, they also had a victim they'd been too late to save. She's been young, about seventeen, her whole life cut tragically short.

Once the rain had finished dousing the final embers, they began the silent two mile trek back to the Impala. They'd left her just off the roadside, hidden by some dense underbrush. Dean had complained that there better not be any scratches on her paint after this, but it was the best they could do at the time. They'd been in a rush to save Stephanie Goldman, who'd gone missing after a party the night prior.

Last night, when he'd been sleeping soundly in a crappy motel bed. Warm and dry while another kid lost her life in his watch.

He was wondering about the family that would never know what happened when he stumbled over a root.

Pain shot through his left side when he bent low, barely managing to right himself and avoid eating dirt. He threw his hand to the spot immediately, grimacing as it came away wet with fresh blood.

Dean forced down the panic, schooling his features to appear normal as Sam asked if he was all right.

"I'm good, Sammy, just ready to be outta this frickin rain. Just gotta take a quick leak first."

The elder Winchester ducked off the path, moving behind a large trunk. As soon as he was sure Sam couldn't see him, he yanked his shirt up.Please not a bite, not a bite...

A decent sized gash ran from his side and up the the bottom of his ribs. Even as he winced at the blood oozing from the wound, he still breathed a ragged sigh of relief. The adrenaline combined with the cold must have masked it until now, but seeing it brought the pain flooding in.

He pulled his shirt back down and pressed it to the wound. The fabric was already soaked in blood. While it wouldn't do much more than apply pressure, it would at least hide the injury from Sammy till they got back to the car. He'd drive back to the motel of the week, wash it and stitch it, and he'd be good as new.

For now, he'd just have to suck it up. After the way today had gone, the pain felt somewhat justified.

They still had about a mile to go. The rain started to increase, their already soaked clothing quickly becoming drenched in icy drops. He saw Sam wrap his arms around himself, and gratefully mimicked the gesture. It helped against the shivers racking his body, and allowed him to add extra pressure to the wound without being obvious. There really was no point in telling Sam now. They needed to hurry up and get to the car before his brother caught something.

It took a few more minutes, but eventually Baby's black side panels came into view.

The brothers wordlessly threw their weapons on the back seat and climbed into Baby. Dean started her up, immediately cranking the heat. He took a moment to breath, trying to regulate his racing heart and clear his mind. He'd begun to feel lightheaded in the last half mile. Blood loss, adrenaline crash and possibly shock were starting to kick in.

Dean shook his head. He just had to make it back to the motel. Then he could rest.

"Dean, are you sure you're right? You don't look good."

The hunter nodded sluggishly. A tremor tore through him and he tried to fight it, but it shook up his frame and jarred his injured flank.

"Dean! That's it, I'm driving."

As Dean crashed, he felt Sam tugging him across the bench seat. Things got hazy after that, reality fading in and out. Sam cursing, telling him to hang on. The feeling of Baby speeding down solid asphalt. Lights, and moving...

He woke to sunlight peeking through the thick green curtains. Eyes flickered against the morning light, then rove to check out his surroundings. Dean recognized the motel room, gaze settling on the sleeping form of his brother on a chair next to his bed.

"S'mmy?"

Sam jerked awake, nearly falling off of the cheap motel chair. "Dean?" he rubbed a hand his face, then ran it through his hair. "Jesus, I was worried! How are are you feeling?"

The elder brother took a deep breath, feeling the pull of the wound on his side. It still hurt, but, "I'll live. What happened?"

"What happened was you got hurt, and didn't bother to say anything until you passed out. What the hell, man? Why would you keep that from me? We could have stitched it up back at the cabin!"

Dean tried to sit up, but a gigantic hand gently pushed him back down. "Take it easy, you lost a lot of blood. Any more and I would have had to take you to the hospital."

"Look, Sammy," he began, swallowing against his dry throat. His brother offered a water bottle with a straw, and he took a few sips gratefully before continuing, "I didn't realize it at first, all right? By the time I knew it, we were almost back at the car. I figured I'd just patch it up when we got back and it's been fine. It didn't seem that bad, I didn't wanna worry you over nothing, man."

With a huff, Sam leaned forward and jabbed a finger at Dean's bare chest. "Nothing to worry about? Do you even realize how much blood you lost? That wound wasdeep, Dean! You're damn lucky it didn't hit anything important!"

The world was growing fuzzy around the edges, but he fought to stay awake a little longer. Passing out again would only worry Sam more. "Well, it didn't, and it looks like you did a good job patching me up. So, thanks."

Sam dropped heavily back into the chair, his momentary fire spent. "Yeah, well, next time don't hide it, ok? I know you've always got my back with this stuff, but remember I've got yours, too."

The words floated quietly between them, and Dean nodded as he felt himself drift. He might have mumbled another thanks, but any response was lost as he drifted off to sleep.