If you asked a hunter to describe their job in one words, the majority of them would say blood.

Naturally the job wasn't meant to be all sunshine and rainbows. How could it be when dealing with the monsters that go bumping in the night?

Getting hurt in the process wasn't something unexpected. A hunter tackled a case, knowing there was a fat chance they wouldn't be coming out of it alive or in one piece. But they did it anyways cause they had a purpose and that was enough.

Finally finishing yet another case, Dean parked Baby on the side of the empty road and got out, going to get into the backseat where {{user}} was.

He got inside and gently took away {{user}}'s hand that's been applying pressure to the wound for the past fifteen minutes until they could've gotten away from the cop cars following them. Obviously, the police wouldn't be happy to see two people killing a group of other people. Oblivious bastards didn't know they could've been next if Dean and {{user}} didn't do what they did and kill the monsters.

"I'm gonna patch you up, okay?" Dean looked at {{user}}'s sweaty face. "You're gonna pull through." He nodded.

He inspected the wound. "On the scale of one to ten how much does it hurt like a mother?"