Not What He Seems

Chapter 16

The process of removing a bullet is painful, to say the least. Riot is sure it would be painful to a human, so feeling the normal pain that comes with the procedure in addition to the pain from the silver being dragged through his body is almost unbearable. He's incredibly grateful that it's Sam trying to fix him up, because if it were Dean, he knows he wouldn't be as careful.

He feels better as soon as the bullet's gone. It still hurts like a bitch, but the burning has mostly subsided, and he finally feels like he can breathe again. He takes the deepest breath he can, filling his lungs to their fullest capacity, just to prove to himself that he can, and by god, it's the best feeling he's ever felt.

In addition to the nice surprise surgery lying on the sidewalk behind the Impala, he's also given some clothes to cover up, courtesy of a very uncomfortable Dean. All they have with them are the clothes on their backs, so Dean put a spare flannel over Riot's lower half, more for his own sake than for Riot's.

"Are you okay?" Sam asks as he cuts the thread from the stitches, signifying the job is done.

Riot sits up slowly, letting himself readjust to the holeless life. He groans, but the pain is nothing compared to what it was just a few minutes ago, so he nods. "Yeah, thank you."

"Well, we held up our end of the deal," Dean says, his voice all work and no play — not quite the Dean that Riot knows from heart-to-hearts on long Impala road trips and mental breakdowns in motel rooms, but not a surprisingly version of Dean in the slightest. "Now talk."

Riot sighs. He spent his whole impromptu surgery thinking of ways to explain this that would make them — or at least Sam — hate him the least, and he came up empty. He'll just have to dive right in.

"I'm not a shifter," Riot says. "I mean, in the technical sense, sure, but not like them "

"What does that even mean?" Dean asks.

"I'm a skinwalker."

Riot waits nervously for their reactions. Sam's eyes widen at the term, but he covers his mouth with his hand before Riot can get a glimpse of whatever emotion he might be feeling. Dean's gaze just hardens, and it's clear that this didn't make him feel any better.

"A skinwalker," Dean repeats. "You're a skinwalker."

Riot just nods.

"Okay, fine," Dean says. "And what's a domesticated werewolf like you doing jumping into a shifter fight?"

"I was just..." Riot sighs. He can't spin a single lie to get himself out of this one. There's no point in it. He can't bullshit him out of here, run back to the motel, and pretend nothing happened. They'll notice the bullet wound, and he's already admitted to being a skinwalker. They'll put two and two together. He might as well put it together for them. "I just didn't want you to get hurt."

Dean scoffs. "You what?"

"Well, okay, I'll rephrase that," Riot says. "I didn't really care what happened to you. You're kind of an asshole. I didn't want Sam to get hurt."

Riot drops his gaze to his lap, looking down at his flannel because there's nothing else here for him to look at. It's either stare at his crotch or face the Winchesters, and he doesn't particularly like the idea of the latter.

"Riot," Sam says quietly.

Riot just nods.

"Woah, hold up," Dean says. "You're the hunk of fur that's been following us around the last few months?"

Riot doesn't dignify that one with a response. He already acknowledged his name. He refused to accept that he's a "hunk of fur."

"What type of game are you playing, huh?" Dean asks.