Where The Devil Don't Go

Dean - Two

Imagine: saving Dean's life when he's attacked by a Wendigo you are hunting and that's his first impression of you.

Small, loose stones litter the floor causing you to almost trip as you get closer to the rock face. You shine the beam of your torch ahead and a cave comes into view, the entrance is so small you almost missed it. The cave is built into the muddy brown Minnesotan rock, ivy coils around the cave and conceals the entrance that is a jagged and uneven opening; arranged in such a way that it is difficult for passers-by to spot. You take another step and part the dangling ivy with your flare gun. Inside the beam of your torch is enveloped and lost in the blackness.
"It's cool, (Y/N)." You whisper to yourself as you step into the cold cave. "It's just a Wendigo. You know how to kill it."

Taking a deep breath, you start walking into the cave. The stench of rotting flesh hits you like a punch to the face and you gag, this morning's food nearly makes an unpleasant comeback. This gross bastard has been storing bodies for months. Gathering yourself, you carry on further into the cave. You reach the end of the cave and you pause in confusion. What the hell? Where's the Wendigo's lair? You retrace your steps, notching a small dark hole on one of the walls. You duck through and shine your torch into the cavern. The rotten stench hits you again, but you're ready for it this time.
"Sam?" A gruff voice croaks out.
"Who's there?" You whisper, aware that the Wendigo could be near.
There's no reply, so you stride forward. The beam of light lands on the remains of human bodies strung up like meat. Arms, legs, ears, you name it, are scattered in bloody heaps.
"Sam." That same voice mutters.
You shine your light in an arc over the room and that's when you spot him. A young man is hung from the cave ceiling, his face coated in dirt and dried blood. You rush over to him, using your knife to start cutting through the rope.
"Sam?" The man weakly opens his eyelids to reveal brilliant green orbs.
"My name is (Y/N)." You coo. "I'm here to save you."
There's a screech and you spin round to be met with the Wendigo bitch you have been hunting. It stands at about fifteen feet and its pallid skin sags on its visible bones.
"And hello to you too, little homewrecker." You growl.
You drop the torch and aim your flare gun at its face, pulling the trigger and watching as the party starts. The flare entombs itself in the things paper-like chest, the impact of the flare pushing it back a few steps. The thing shrieks as its skin catches fire and it starts burning. You quickly reload and send another flare at its head. This one forces it back even further and it crumbles to the floor in a burning mess. Turning back to the injured man, you finish cutting him down and haul him onto your shoulder.
"Sam." The man mumbles.
Clearly, the poor dude is delirious, which will make it easier to convince him that this never happened. His head lolls as you drag him out of the cave and onto the path where your car is parked. Attempting to be gentle, you stuff him into the back seat and jump into the front. As you drive away, you mentally argue with yourself about what to do with this man. Do you dump him at the hospital or take him back to your motel room and find out who this Sam guy is?

Hooking your arms under his armpits, you drag the sandy-haired man into your hotel room. You dump him on the bed and start treating his wounds. He stays asleep the whole time, even as you stitch up the deep wound on his toned abdomen. Once you have disposed of his torn and gross clothes, you leave him in his boxers and a large top you found at the back of the musty closet.
"Sleep well." You whisper, walking away from the bed.
You pour yourself a large glass of whiskey and lean on the mouldy kitchen counter; keeping your (E/C) eyes on the sleeping form. After a couple of glasses of whiskey, you hear the man stirring. You stay where you are, assessing the situation. He sits up, wincing as he pulls on his stitches. He frantically glances around the room, tensing when his green eyes land on you.
"Who are you?" He asks, his voice is as soothing as a cigarette after sex.
"(Y/N) (Y/L/N)." You move towards him. "I found you injured in a cave, probably a grizzly-"
He scoffs. "We both know that that wasn't a bear."
You roll your eyes. "I don't know what you think you saw, but I have been tracking the bear that injured you."
"Sweetheart, the thing that took me was a Wendigo."
You open and close your mouth; furrowing your brows in confusion.
"You're a hunter?"
He nods sitting up, but his face shows that he immediately regrets that action.
"Well, you mustn't be a very good one. Getting caught by a Wendigo, really? I even found a lighter in your jeans."
This causes the man to scowl and he glances down at his bare legs.
"Liked what you saw?" He smirks.
"I can tell that you think what you're saying is funny, but ... no." You huff.
He pulls a face and you down the rest of the whiskey in your glass.
"What's your name?" You ignore his childish actions and fold your arms.
"Dean. Dean Winchester."
He tells you his name like you're supposed to know who he is. When he doesn't get any reaction, he slumps slightly.
"Who's Sam?"
Dean narrows his eyes at you.
"Chill, you were mumbling his name over and over."
"He's my brother."
"I'll grab my phone, so you can contact him."
As you turn, he stands up and grabs your hand; causing an unwelcome tingling sensation to run through your body.
"You're awesome." Dean smirks.
Rolling your eyes, you shake his hand off your arm.
"Lie down, pretty boy."