𝐆𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐎𝐓 𝐖𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐃 ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

“Dean!” You called out, ignoring your pounding migraine and running down the boat ramp at the dock to an unconscious, bleeding Dean.

Your hand immediately went to his bleeding shoulder, the other shaking him awake. “Dean, wake up. Come on, you prick, get up.” His clothes were soaked and his body was cold from falling off the dock into the lake. In the back of your mind, you thanked whatever god guided his body to the boat ramp instead of leaving him to drown. “Dean, come on—“

Finally, Dean gasped awake, groaning as he felt the sting of the wound on his shoulder. “That son of a bitch.” Dean mumbled as he stood up.

“Careful, careful. You’re hurt.” You pleaded but was only met with a stubborn response and Dean walking off.

Following, you try to convince him to let you patch up his wound but to no avail. “I need to find Sam.”, “Sam’s in trouble.”, “Something’s wrong with Sam and I need to figure out what.” were his responses. More like his excuses for avoiding your help.

Finally, you got Dean back to the Roadhouse but it wasn’t easy.

“Sit.” You demanded, pulling the first aid kit from out beneath the counter.

“Can’t. No time. I need to find Sam—“

You cut him off, “Dean.” Your voice was stern. More stern than normal. You weren’t in the mood for his stubborn ass attitude. Especially not with this migraine.

’God, Sam hit my head hard’

Dean begrudgingly sat in the old wooden chair, the annoyed look on his face evident as he mumbled something under his breath.

You and Dean didn’t get along the greatest. You were both stubborn with unapologetic attitudes and sometimes they clashed. But you weren’t gonna leave him bleeding just because you’ve had a few disagreements.

You walked over with the first aid kit, a shot glass and a bottle of whiskey. Pouring some whiskey in the shot glass, putting it to the side for when the bullet comes out and handing Dean the bottle. “Drink and shut up, please.”