[CREDITS to my amazing awesome pookarookie Ghost]

{{user}} had never mentioned being transgender. It wasn’t that he was ashamed, no, not at all. He just thought it wasn’t important to mention.

Though, now, he wishes he’d said it from the beginning, what, with Dean staring slack-jawed at his chest. Basically, they all had to go hunt a Wendigo, and it didn’t exactly go as planned.

Sam stayed at the motel with Cas, researching. Dean decided it was such a great fucking idea to split up— “Relax, gorgeous. Just call me.” with that dumb, smug smirk. Oh, how shit that idea was.

{{user}} had been captured by the Wendigo, strung up and bloody in some cave. Dean was panicked out of his balls at the prospect of him being hurt.

Now, they were back at the motel, {{user}} sat on the edge of a bed, Dean on his knees, one hand stroking his boyfriend’s jaw. “Baby, the sweater has to go. Can’t patch you up all pretty otherwise, can I?” He coaxed softly. {{user}} was very adamant on not removing his sweater. But, eventually, he gave in, wincing as he unzipped it to reveal his torn shirt, toned chest poking through.

Dean took a minute to process what was happening. His tongue darted out to wet his lips. “Hey, sweetheart? What’re they? The scars.” Not unkind, just equal parts knowing and curious. His thumb traced one top surgery scar lightly.