Made Of Scars (2/?)
Main Title: Made of Scars
Chapter 2: This One Opened Twice
Author:
shadow_one
Beta:
xtremeroswellia
Rating: PG-13 to R
Spoilers: None
A/N: This fic is going to consist of a series of one-shots, dealing with all of Dean's scars using lyrics from the song Made Of Scars by Stone Sour.
Disclaimer: Still don't own the boys, or the song. Just borrowing!
This one opened twice
There's one peculiar scar on Dean Winchester that's hidden from most of the world. It's one that resides just above his waistline. He doesn't talk about it, partly because no one has ever asked, and partly because it was one that he wished wasn't there. He knew the only reason it was there was because of some dumb mistakes on his part, but he'd never admit that.
---
He and his dad had been out hunting shortly after Sam had left for Stanford. Since the big blowout between father and son, the only thing the oldest Winchester wanted to do was hunt and get on with life. Of course, Dean followed. What other choice did he have? One son had already abandoned John, what would he do if the second did the same?
This hunt was supposed to be one of their easier ones. An in and out kind of thing that ended with a stop at a bar for a few rounds. Their target this time was a Wendigo, but the thing about this one was that it was injured and therefore would be easy to find and kill. Or so they thought. As they journeyed deeper into the forest, the Wendigo's trail was easily lost, so they decided to split up and go opposite directions, eventually circling the area and meeting up on the other side.
As Dean set off alone, he held his gun loosely at his side, appearing as though he didn't expect to see anything as he wandered. In reality, his senses were on full alert, ready to shoot at any moment, should the Wendigo jump out at him. Walking along on his own, his thoughts settled on Sam, wondering what he was doing right now. He's probably in the library right now, his nose stuck in some stupid book. I swear, I'm gonna go down there one of these days and --
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't hear a soft muffled noise from behind him as something fell to the ground. He also missed the soft growl as the Wendigo came up from behind him, grabbing him securely around the middle with its razor sharp claws.
Dean cursed loudly as the claws pierced his tender flesh, dragging along inside him. Pushing past the agonizing pain consuming him, he weakly tried to throw the thing off of him long enough to get to his gun. Finally getting his legs up under it, he gave a hard shove, yelling as the claws extracted from his middle. When the Wendigo was off him, he scrambled for his gun that had landed a few feet from him. Once he reached it, he took aim as the creature slowly advanced on him.
Pulling the trigger on the flare gun, he watched the thing become engulfed in flames. Dropping his gun to the forest floor, he dropped his head back down, letting out a groan as the pain in his side flared again. Closing his eyes, he took a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself together. Come on, Winchester, you're fine. Now get off your ass and find Dad.
Slowly, he got to his feet, wrapping an arm around his middle, as if he was trying to keep himself in one piece. His progress was slow, as he kept stumbling over the thick roots covered by the dirt of the forest. Finally, he reached the spot where he was supposed to meet his father. Leaning against the three, he closed his eyes and waited for the older man to appear.
Hour-like minutes passed for Dean before he heard the heavy footfalls of John drawing near him. "I got it, Dad," he mumbled, eyes staying closed.
Reaching out, John put his hand on Dean's shoulder, studying his face. "Where'd he get you?" His voice was quiet, concern clearly heard.
Swallowing, the younger Winchester removed his arm from the injured area. It was covered with blood that was slowly seeping onto his pants, staining them almost black.
"Jesus, Dean."
"Dad, I'm fine. Let's just…get back to the room, you can fix me up." Dean gave him a weak smile, trying to stay upright.
Pressing his lips into a tight line, the elder nodded and put his son's arm around his shoulder to support him. "Okay kiddo. Let's get the hell out of here."
---
Truth be told, the Wendigo could have done a lot more damage than what it had. Yes, the cut in his side was deep, but luckily it had missed anything vital. So after his dad got him stitched up and ordered him to rest while he got food, Dean sat against the headboard, mind miles away, to where his brother was.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't hear his dad come back into the room and put bags of food down for them. When he came to stand in front of Dean, that's when he snapped out of his thoughts, jumping up off of the bed to come to attention before his father. Which ultimately turned out to be a bad idea. The stitches that held his wound closed had torn, and he was now bleeding freely again.
Sinking back down onto the bed, he put his head in his hands as his dad cursed at the sudden red seeping through the bandage covering the stitches.
"Dean…lie back down, we've gotta get this fixed up." John's voice was suddenly back in control as he helped ease his son back down onto the dirty bed comforter.
Dean slipped into his thoughts once more, ignoring the pain of the needle and thread going in and out of him as his dad once again repaired the damage from his carelessness.
Chapter 2: This One Opened Twice
Author:
shadow_one
Beta:
xtremeroswellia
Rating: PG-13 to R
Spoilers: None
A/N: This fic is going to consist of a series of one-shots, dealing with all of Dean's scars using lyrics from the song Made Of Scars by Stone Sour.
Disclaimer: Still don't own the boys, or the song. Just borrowing!
This one opened twice
There's one peculiar scar on Dean Winchester that's hidden from most of the world. It's one that resides just above his waistline. He doesn't talk about it, partly because no one has ever asked, and partly because it was one that he wished wasn't there. He knew the only reason it was there was because of some dumb mistakes on his part, but he'd never admit that.
---
He and his dad had been out hunting shortly after Sam had left for Stanford. Since the big blowout between father and son, the only thing the oldest Winchester wanted to do was hunt and get on with life. Of course, Dean followed. What other choice did he have? One son had already abandoned John, what would he do if the second did the same?
This hunt was supposed to be one of their easier ones. An in and out kind of thing that ended with a stop at a bar for a few rounds. Their target this time was a Wendigo, but the thing about this one was that it was injured and therefore would be easy to find and kill. Or so they thought. As they journeyed deeper into the forest, the Wendigo's trail was easily lost, so they decided to split up and go opposite directions, eventually circling the area and meeting up on the other side.
As Dean set off alone, he held his gun loosely at his side, appearing as though he didn't expect to see anything as he wandered. In reality, his senses were on full alert, ready to shoot at any moment, should the Wendigo jump out at him. Walking along on his own, his thoughts settled on Sam, wondering what he was doing right now. He's probably in the library right now, his nose stuck in some stupid book. I swear, I'm gonna go down there one of these days and --
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't hear a soft muffled noise from behind him as something fell to the ground. He also missed the soft growl as the Wendigo came up from behind him, grabbing him securely around the middle with its razor sharp claws.
Dean cursed loudly as the claws pierced his tender flesh, dragging along inside him. Pushing past the agonizing pain consuming him, he weakly tried to throw the thing off of him long enough to get to his gun. Finally getting his legs up under it, he gave a hard shove, yelling as the claws extracted from his middle. When the Wendigo was off him, he scrambled for his gun that had landed a few feet from him. Once he reached it, he took aim as the creature slowly advanced on him.
Pulling the trigger on the flare gun, he watched the thing become engulfed in flames. Dropping his gun to the forest floor, he dropped his head back down, letting out a groan as the pain in his side flared again. Closing his eyes, he took a shuddering breath, trying to pull himself together. Come on, Winchester, you're fine. Now get off your ass and find Dad.
Slowly, he got to his feet, wrapping an arm around his middle, as if he was trying to keep himself in one piece. His progress was slow, as he kept stumbling over the thick roots covered by the dirt of the forest. Finally, he reached the spot where he was supposed to meet his father. Leaning against the three, he closed his eyes and waited for the older man to appear.
Hour-like minutes passed for Dean before he heard the heavy footfalls of John drawing near him. "I got it, Dad," he mumbled, eyes staying closed.
Reaching out, John put his hand on Dean's shoulder, studying his face. "Where'd he get you?" His voice was quiet, concern clearly heard.
Swallowing, the younger Winchester removed his arm from the injured area. It was covered with blood that was slowly seeping onto his pants, staining them almost black.
"Jesus, Dean."
"Dad, I'm fine. Let's just…get back to the room, you can fix me up." Dean gave him a weak smile, trying to stay upright.
Pressing his lips into a tight line, the elder nodded and put his son's arm around his shoulder to support him. "Okay kiddo. Let's get the hell out of here."
---
Truth be told, the Wendigo could have done a lot more damage than what it had. Yes, the cut in his side was deep, but luckily it had missed anything vital. So after his dad got him stitched up and ordered him to rest while he got food, Dean sat against the headboard, mind miles away, to where his brother was.
He was so wrapped up in his thoughts that he didn't hear his dad come back into the room and put bags of food down for them. When he came to stand in front of Dean, that's when he snapped out of his thoughts, jumping up off of the bed to come to attention before his father. Which ultimately turned out to be a bad idea. The stitches that held his wound closed had torn, and he was now bleeding freely again.
Sinking back down onto the bed, he put his head in his hands as his dad cursed at the sudden red seeping through the bandage covering the stitches.
"Dean…lie back down, we've gotta get this fixed up." John's voice was suddenly back in control as he helped ease his son back down onto the dirty bed comforter.
Dean slipped into his thoughts once more, ignoring the pain of the needle and thread going in and out of him as his dad once again repaired the damage from his carelessness.