Chapter Text
You sighed into the phone, “I hate doing this.” You could hear the faint breath of the other person on the phone. They’d been quiet since they heard your voice, and only replied with short curt answers, and only breathing in short little pants. Not you, your heart was racing, your legs bouncing up and down as you nervously tried to get through this phone call.
The sun was barely rising, birds chirping as they flew overhead. The day was going to be a nice one. It was the first day of spring after all. Blood was caked to your clothes, to your face, and to your hands. You couldn’t even tell which was yours anymore, or which was… “It’s just- I’ve never hunted something like this before.”
You ran hand through your hair and closed your eyes. You hated this, hated the sting of tears threatening to fall from your eyes. The pain was starting to return. No longer did you have adrenaline to subside it. You looked up at the sky, the pinks and yellows starting to blur in your vision. “And I think- fuck- I can’t believe I’m admitting this, but I think I need your help.”
You bit down on your lower lip as you waited for a response on the other side of the phone. It was taking longer than you wanted it too, which was making your heart skip a few beats.
“Yeah.” He cleared his throat. You could hear him shuffling around, could hear him shut is laptop and set down his beer as if that would help him hear you better. “We don’t have anything going on right now. Where did you say you were?” His voice picked up a beat, as if he was actually excited about helping you out.
You were relieved, breathing in the fresh air around you. “Thank you so much. I’ll text you my address.” And you quickly hung up the phone, not allowing any more words to be shared between you. You took a deep breath, leaning back against your front door. After a moment of silence, after your heart started to beat a little more normal, you glanced at your phone screen.
You clicked on his name, thumb floating over the button to text him. You sighed, ‘What are you doing? He already agreed to come and help you. Just send him your damn address so he can be here already.’ In a few short little strokes your address was typed up, all ready for you to click send so help would be at your aid. You clicked it, and waited.
‘: )’ Was the only reply you got back, a simple little smiley face.
You sighed, hitting your head against your door. You hadn’t even made it into the comfort in your home. You sat bruised and beaten on your front porch. Legs splayed out in front of you, your jeans cut and stained with dark red blood. Your boots were off though, kicked off to the side.
You pushed your palm against the wood, feeling the grains against your skin. Every muscle in your body ached as you got to your feet. Bones creaking. The pain was worse now, and suddenly every scratch and gash was made apparent to you.
You leaned against the door frame as you tried to unlock it. Hands shaking and making the action seem nearly impossible. And suddenly you unlocked it, and were granted sweet access to the safety of your home. You slammed the door, and without picking up your feet you made your way to the couch, throwing yourself against it and letting the pain take over your body and let you slip into a deep sleep
You door opened, you could hear the faint little squeak from the hinges, and soon could hear the sound of heavy footsteps as they walked through your home. You lay there, opening your eyes and trying to assess just where you were. Your couch. You moved slowly, trying to find any sort of weapon that you would possibly have on hand. But of course, you didn’t. Your table did though, and it was only a foot away.
You could hear the boots walking around, ‘Where they’re two of them?’ They were no longer at the front of your house, they were making their way around, and by the sound of it, and they were in your room.
You rolled, quickly reaching for the gun tapped securely under the table, you aimed it towards where you could hear the footsteps. No lights were on in your house, and you could barely make out the shapes of the things around you. You got to your feet, once more feeling the surge of pain throughout your body.
You walked forward, gun cocked and ready. You could hear voiced from the next room, still no lights were on. You flipped the switch, and waited for your eyes to adjust as you tried to make out the figures before you.
Two large men stood before you, both holding a set of their own guns as they whipped around. “Dean? Sam?” You asked, holding your gun in place. “Wow. That was fast.” You said, clicking your gun into its safety and slipping it into your jeans. The cold of the metal sending goosebumps across your arms.
“What the hell happened to you?” Sam asked, eyes combing over your body. They lingered on your stomach, widening at they took in the damage you had previously taken. He shared a look with his brother, both who were hesitant to put their own weapons away. “Y/N? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. This is nothing.” You lied. The pain was still there, throbbing and constant. “I uh-“ You started, but you didn’t know what to say. This was the case, this is why you called them here even if it took a stab at your pride. And admitting that you had gotten this messed up wasn’t helping build it back up.
You tried to laugh, tried to cover up the tears that still wanted to fall as you took in every breath. “I’ma go get cleaned up. Make yourselves at home okay? There’s food and beer in the fridge.”
Dean and Sam shared a look again as you walked away. But neither moved. You were okay with this as you made it to your room. You all but fell on your bed, having a hard time keeping on your feet now. Your energy was draining, blood still soaking through your many layers.
You flipped on your bathroom lights, letting them hum above you. You looked at yourself in the mirror before you started. Dark circles were very apparent under your eyes, lips cracked and dry. Your skin was pale, paler than usual as you leaned against the counter. You blinked slowly, eyes trailing down your own body.
Your stomach looked the worst, because of course you wore a white tank top, or what had been white. Now, now it was a dark red and brown. Blood both fresh and dried and caked to your skin, as if your shirt was becoming a part of you.
Every little movement hurt, taking your breath out of your lungs. You hissed as you peeled your jacket off and dropped it at your feet. You took a moment, breathing in and out slowly, your head growing fuzzy. Your flannel was next, falling at your feet quietly with your jacket. Nothing compared to the pain of peeling off your tank top though. Slowly you peeled, slowly you ripped a felt your cuts reopening.
“Fuck.” You cursed, slowly and carefully trying to disconnect the tank top from your skin. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to keep yourself from letting out the string of curse words that were floating around in your head. You closed your eyes, trying hard to think about anything but this as you continued.
Sam knocked on the open door, “Need some help?” He asked. All he could see was your bare back, a black bra only hiding a small part of it. Cuts and scratches covered your milky skin. “You look terrible.” He said, not waiting to an answer.
You tried to laugh at his comment, but your mind was too busy. All you could think about was breathing in and out, was standing here without falling over. Your body in too much pain to even come up with a witty comeback for him like you would have been able to do on any other day.
It wasn’t until Sam was in your bathroom with you that he could see your stomach, see the deep gash that covered most of it. “Holy shit, Y/N, here. Let me help please.” Once again, he didn’t wait for an answer. He turned you, hands gripping your own to stop you.
“Please Y/N, let me help you.” He said again, this time on his knees. “Okay. Get in the shower. Here,” He turned on the water, feeling it before helping you step in. Jeans and shirt still stuck to you.
You didn’t stop the tears as they fell now. You had no strength too. Instead you let them mix with the water from the shower and mix with the blood before slipping down the drain. You leaned your head against the tiles, letting Sam work his magic on you. You felt defeated, felt helpless and weak.
“Almost done. Help me take your pants off.” Sam’s large hands found your hips, his fingers digging in as he tried to get you to stand up right. The water rolled over the both of you, falling against the white fiberglass below you.
“No!” You tried to yell, tried to pry his fingers off you. But you were weak, and could barely even move your arms. Your blood seemed like sandpaper in your body, and every movement scraped against your thin veins.
“Y/N, I need to make sure you don’t have more cuts.” Sam’s voice was stern, and even through your half open eyes you knew that he was just trying to care for you. “And we need to get you out of the water and start dressing them so they don’t stay open. You’ve already lost a lot of blood.”
You didn’t really help Sam, just a lift of your feet as he slid the wet jeans down your legs. If you had been able to make coherent thoughts, if you had been able to understand the situation, you would have been embarrassed at what was happening. You stood, in just a black bra and panties, in your shower as Sam Winchester searched your body.
The water running off you was clear now, you took that as a good sign. You took it as a better sign when Sam shut off the water and picked up your soaking wet body. You felt light, and liked the way Sam felt as he pressed you into his chest. You didn’t care that he was carrying you, didn’t care that you weren’t in control of anything, because this felt okay.
“What the hell?” Dean asked with this mouth stuffed with noodles. He held a bowl in one hand, a fork in the other. “I turn my back for two minutes, and you both start-“ His words fell flat when he noticed the state of Y/N.
Her still wet mostly naked body limply hanging in Sam’s arms. He stood, fear in his eyes as he looked at his brother. Dean set his bowl down, quickly chewed and swallowed the rest of what was in his mouth and quickly cleared a spot on your table for Sam to set you down.
“What the hell happened to you Y/N?” Dean asked. His hands hovered over you, as if he was scared to actually touch you, to break you.
Sam shuffled in his bag and set down the equipment they would need. “No time for questions Dean. Start sewing her up.” Sam practically threw the kit at his brother, Dean caught it and instantly started to go to work.
Both men looked down at you, stopping only for a moment when you would hiss out in pain to make sure you were okay. “Why didn’t you tell us Y/N?” Dean whispered more to himself than to you, but you heard him none the less.
“I thought I’d be okay.” You croaked between your dry lips. Dean gave you a glance, an understanding look in his eyes before he returned to your stomach. “Are you both almost done?” You’d been feeling better for a while now; and even though you didn’t want to admit it, it was because of the boys fixing you up like they were.
You still felt weak, still felt like you would need help getting up and off this table, but you were able to think clearly again. And you were suddenly so very aware of just how naked you were. You blushed, not that either of them noticed. They were too busy with their fingers against your rough skin, needles digging into your flesh and closing you up.
Dean was a lot rougher than Sam, Sam whose hands were so much bigger. You’d assumed it was because of that, that he trained himself to lightly push himself against you. You closed your eyes, ‘Why are they doing this? They barely know me.’
“Okay, all closed up. I’ll- I’ll go get some clothes…” Sam said, quickly leaving the room and returning to yours. His boot steps were hurried, practically scraping against the ground and never leaving it as he made his distance.
Dean helped you sit up, his rough hands pressing against your back. “Whatever it was really got you good. What is it Y/N? What were you hunting?”
You gulped, “A Rugaru.”