Twelve Days Of Angstmas: Day One- Dean

Characters: Sam, Dean

Word Count: 864

Summary: A traditional werewolf hunt goes slightly south. A bit of angst, a bit of fluff.

Spoilers: Up to episode 7x08

Disclaimer: If I owned the show, Destiel would be canon, Adam and Gabriel would come back, and Crowley would be in it more than he already is. Alas, it is not to be.

A/N: Twelve days of Christmas… yeah, I couldn't help myself. There will be twelve one-shots in total, every one involving a different character being injured. Because I love angst and h/c and have nothing better to do with my life. I hope you like!

Dean

Dean cautiously peered around the dumpster, tightening his grip on his gun. The werewolf remained unaware of his presence; she was still gorging herself on her kill. Alex Hopkins, Dean reminded himself. His name was Alex Hopkins. They'd interviewed the incessantly cheerful man only that morning, but now he was just another person he and his brother had failed to save.

Like Cas.

He shook his head. He wouldn't think about that now. Not on the hunt. Especially when this was the first normal hunt they'd had in weeks. That thing with Becky and Garth a few days ago sure as hell didn't count.

Slowly, he unlatched the safety on the gun, the 'click' resounding through the alley. The werewolf's head snapped up, and she looked around wildly, her lips curled back in a snarl. Dean froze, cursing his unpreparedness. Honestly, he hadn't expected to come across the wolf here.

He'd just been out for a pie run.

The werewolf's eyes fixed on Dean, and he cursed again, raising his gun level with her heart. But it was too late for that. She moved faster than he could react, barreling straight into him. He hit the pavement hard, the air rushing out of his lungs and his gun skittering away. He only just managed to use her momentum to push her off of him. Gasping for breath, he rolled into a crouch. His gun was nowhere to be seen, lost in the shadows of the alley. Where is it?!

A few yards away, the werewolf growled and surged to her feet. Dean instantly rose as well. Staying sitting during a werewolf hunt? Not a good idea.

If only he had his gun.

He had just enough time to brace himself before she hit him again, making a surprisingly good imitation of a freight train, considering her size. Despite his best efforts, he was sent tumbling to the ground again, his head cracking against the pavement. He tried to throw her off again, but it was no use; evidently, she'd learned from her previous error. Her nails dug deep into his arms, and her knees pressed against his chest, pinning him down. She smiled as he struggled, baring all of her teeth and leaning forward. Time seemed to slow down.

So, this is how it ends. Dean Winchester, brought down by a werewolf hooker. I hope Sammy'll be alright. Wait, scratch that, I just hope he won't do something stupid.

Suddenly, shots reverberated through the alleyway. Once. Twice. Three times. The werewolf's eyes widened for a moment as blood bloomed on her shirt, her white shirt now crimson red. Letting out a dog-like whine, she fell slowly over on to her side. Dean let out a sigh of relief as the claws slid out from his arms.

Then, Sam was there, standing over him, his eyes full of concern. "Dude, you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm good," Dean replied, sitting up, wincing at the pain in his arms. "I thought you were back at the room."

Sam smiled slightly, offering Dean a hand. "You said you'd be back in ten, but you were gone for fifteen. I got worried."

"Right." Dean stood up, but immediately wished he hadn't, as the wound in the back of his head chose that time to make its presence known. He swayed in place, detachedly observing the fact that there now appeared to be two Sams.

"Dean!" Sam caught him before he fell. "Geez, man! Let's get you back to the hotel."

Dean could only remember nodding in agreement before everything went black.

xXx

The first thing Dean realized when he woke up was that apparently, a herd of loud, obnoxious elephants had decided to make his head their home without him noticing. He groaned, slowly opening his eyes.

"Dean!"

Dean turned his head to the side. Yup, there was Sam, hovering at the side of the bed and looking generally like a mama… moose? Was that even a thing?

Yeah, he definitely had a head injury.

"Hey, man, how're you feeling?" Sam asked.

"Like I got tossed to the ground and clawed up by a skanky werewolf. Oh, wait…"

Sam huffed a short laugh, though the relief in his voice was almost palpable. "Whatever."

Dean grinned, struggling to an upright position. There was a bandage wrapped around his head, he noted, and several on his forearms. The latter throbbed, but besides that and his skull, he felt alright. "So, did you grab my gun?" he asked.

"Your…?" Sam stared at him.

"You left my gun all by itself in a dark, dank alley? Dude, it's one of my favorites!"

Sam clenched his jaw. "I was a little busy dragging your unconscious ass back to the motel. Sorry."

"So, you didn't even take care of the bodies? Sam!"

"You've been out for five hours, Dean," Sam said, voice suddenly quiet. He stared at the bed sheets, seemingly taking an interest in the pink floral pattern. "I was worried."

Dean lifted an eyebrow. "That so?"

Sam was silent.

"Fine. Go get me that pie, and we'll call it even."

Sam's head shot up, and he glared at him. "Really, Dean? Really?"

"Bitch."

"Jerk."