tanaquific

Title: More Than Skin Deep
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Teen
Warnings: Set early Season 4
Words: 675
Summary: Dean came out of Hell without a scratch on him, except for Castiel's handprint. But a few weeks of hunting seems to be fixing that. Written for the

cliche_bingo prompt "Physical Imperfections".
Disclaimer: These stories are based on the Warner Bros. Television/Wonderland Sound and Vision/Eric Kripke/Robert Singer series Supernatural. They were written for entertainment only; the author does not profit from them nor was any infringement of copyright intended. Please do not redistribute elsewhere without the author's consent.
Author's Note: Thanks to

scribblesinink for the beta.

oOo
"Dude, you're a mess!" Sam carefully peeled Dean's T-shirt away from his shoulder blade and looked at the slashes running diagonally down his brother's back.

"Just patch me up," Dean growled. He took a swig from the bottle of whiskey he'd insisted they pick up on the way back to the motel room.

Sam rolled his eyes but didn't say anything, just angled the bedside lamp so he could see better. Dean winced as he began swabbing the scrapes and Sam cast around for something to distract him. "Didn't you get scratched up by one of these sons of bitches before?"

"Did I?" Dean took another drink. Sam noticed his other hand was scrunched tight into the bedcovers.

"Yeah. Wyoming, wasn't it? You and dad'd left me with Pastor Jim." Sam knew his father and Jim had argued about that, but Jim had insisted Sam should have a chance to graduate High School. His time at Jim's had shown him what normal could be like; Dad had turned up every vacation to remind him what being a Winchester was all about. "I think I was maybe fifteen," he added.

"Don't remember." Dean was staring down at the hideously patterned carpet.

"Yeah." Sam dropped the bloodied swab and grabbed a clean one. "I remember Dad made you show Jim. He was pretty impressed."

Dean shrugged. Sam put his hand on his shoulder. "Hold still." He eyed his brother's back critically. "You're gonna need some stitches."

"Okay." Another swig of whiskey.

Sam frowned at the bottle. Looked like Dean was already a quarter of the way down it, but he guessed he was in a lot of pain. Talking of which....

"How's that bite you got week before last healing up?" Sam concentrated on threading a needle with surgical silk.

"Fine."

Sam rolled his eyes again. He knew from past experience that that could mean anything from there barely being a mark left to it starting to turn septic. Dad had never allowed them to be wusses, and fifteen years of hunting—of not stopping until the job was done—meant Dean was liable to shrug off life-threatening injuries as if they were paper cuts. "Maybe I should take a look when we're done here?"

"'M okay." Dean was sounding slightly slurred now, and he didn't flinch when Sam drew the edges of the largest gash together and carefully inserted the first stitch. Sam reckoned Dean would pass out once they were done, and he could sneak a look at the bite then.

Funny, though. Hadn't Dean also had a bite like that before? Of course, in fifteen years of hunting, they were bound to run into the same crap more than once, and getting hurt was pretty much part of the job description. Although Dean had seemed slow getting out the way quite a few times the past weeks. Sam shrugged: he could hardly blame his brother for being a little off his game after everything that had happened.

Concentrating on putting the next stitch in, Sam muttered, "At this rate, all we'll need to do is break your nose and a few fingers and you'll be back to your old handsome self." He felt Dean tense under his hands. "Relax, dude. It was a joke."

Dean didn't react for a moment, and then he let out a long breath. He turned his head slightly. "We done yet?"

"Almost." Another minute and Sam was taping a dressing over the top to keep everything clean. He slapped Dean on his good shoulder. "All done."

Dean grunted his thanks and took another drink, before flopping face down onto the bed.

Later, easing off Dean's sock while he slept to check the bite on his shin—still angrily red but a lot better than last time he'd seen it—Sam reflected that Dean seemed to be collecting new scars at quite a rate. Almost like....

Nah. Shoving the sock into his brother's boot so it wouldn't get lost, Sam shook his head. That would just be crazy....