terminal lucidity — dean winchester
when dean winchester isn't aware that wolf hybrids can't tell when to stop fighting
tags: wolf hybdrid!reader, depictions of fighting, mild tbi depiction, dehumanization (reader refered to as "it" bc theyre a hybrid), medical innacuracies, use of petnames (sweetheart), second person pov (1.1k words)
author's note: thinking about how dogs can, in some cases, eat themselves to death because they don't know when to stop…
Sam sees Dean in the same way one would see a father who insists he doesn't want a dog, a dog isn't even an option, he won't get a dog because he does not want one one bit. Until you get the dog.
Every day he swore up and down that a wolf hybrid was not a valuable addition to their duo, that they were fine hunters just the two of them and that hybrids were far too unstable to make finding one worthwhile.
Sam didn’t believe him then, and he definitely didn’t believe him after he walked into the motel one day after running out to get some beef jerky from a nearby gas station to find Dean and the stray wolf hybrid the brothers took in cuddled up on his bed in a sort of pseudo nest. You’d stripped Sam’s bed bare to stack up all the pillows from across both beds (you usually slept on the floor because you were worried asking for a bed when booking motels was too imposing) in a ring-ish shape and draped the fuzzy blankets on top for an extra level of warmth. You were curled into a ball in his arms, one of Dean’s hands holding your back and the other continuing to scratch between your ears despite being dead asleep.
So evidently, he liked you. Liked the cuddles, the warmth, liked eating with you, and especially liked the friendly fights you two would get in between cases. It helped soothe your instincts so you were less rowdy and agitated through long cases, and it helped him hone his skills in preparation for the times he’d have to fight without a gun.
Like today.
This time, the sight Sam had come back to was not cute or tender. You two were in the parking lot in summery clothes, knuckles wrapped in gauze and throwing punches back and forth.
“Hey!” he called, jogging over from the car to where you both were, waving a friendly hand. Dean just nodded back, but you didn’t respond. It’s like you didn’t even register he was there. “‘S it okay?” he asked Dean before turning down to face you. “You okay?”
You once again didn’t respond, drawing worry from Sam considering he was close enough that you should reasonably be able to hear him. You just continued to gnaw on Dean, gnashed teeth dug into his shoulder and thrashing your head back and forth. Not hard enough to draw blood, just enough to soothe the ache in your gums granted by your wolf side. Playfully.
“Hello-o-o?” Sam called once more, this time tapping your shoulder. You quickly unlatched and turned around, blinking rapidly before your vision settled on him. Well, “settled” is a strong word, it remained dizzy and tunneled, but that wasn’t new. “You alright? Mad at me or something? You weren’t responding, sweetheart.”
“Pardon?” you responded, voice far too loud for the relatively quiet environment. Like you couldn’t hear your own voice.
He bent down to repeat the little “are you alright,” you turning your head as well to lean into his words.
Before he could even finish asking, you pulled back. “I can’t hear you.”
“What??” he immediately shouted, a wave of panic washing over him instantaneously. Dean too, though his panic was more internal. He was more trained to stifle his panic than Sammy.
You could see Sam’s lips move, but couldn’t quite read his lips, so you just repeated yourself. “I can’t hear you. I just hear ringing.” The tinnitus got worse the more you looked up, Sam being taller than you meant your head had to angle closer to the sky and thus, closer to the sun. It was like the bright sun wasn’t just loud in glare, but also in noise. It was blaring in your ears.
Sam’s head snapped up to face his older brother. “Dean, what happened?”
The worry only worsened as you started to sway on your feet. Why were you swaying on your feet??
“Nothing, it’s fine. I thought it was fine!” he shouted, double Sam’s volume and still not getting past your tinnitus. He turned you around, head ducking so low that his lips quite literally brushed your ears. “Can you grab my hand?” he whispered, not wanting to yell in your presumably damaged ears, but anything that got through the ringing barrier (even if just a faint, gruff whisper) triggered an almost hyperacusic sensation.
You nodded despite the pain, Dean pulling back and just putting a hand up, wanting to test your coordination considering your sudden balance issues. You huffed—this was easy. You extended your hand out, reaching for his, leaning slightly forward to grab his hand (or at least, one of the four you could see, each pair blurring into each other) and—
THUD.
Everything was cold, black, ringing. Cold, black, ringing. Ringing. Cold, ringing. Black, nauseous, sick, ringing. Ringing. Ringing. Sick. Foggy. Ringing. Black. Gone.
“Dude, it missed my hand!” Dean exclaimed, as if that was the most worrying thing that occurred in the past ten seconds.
Sam shouted back, “It passed out, did you give it a concussion or something?!” He was quick to bend down, put an ear by your nose and make sure you were breathing. Both hands went under your jaw and around your neck, holding your head still to prevent further injuries in case it was a spinal issue.
“I dunno, I figured it woulda said something if it was hurt that bad?? No complaints, no whines or nothin’, figured it woulda said something if I hit too hard.”
“You dumbass,” Sam groaned loudly, moving one hand towards his back pocket so he could grab his phone and dial 9-1-1. “Wolves and wolf hybrids, they don’t know when anything is ‘too far.’”
“Well, I know that, I thought it was just like a food thing, no? Like real dogs.”
“No, man. It’s everything. Why d’ya think there are so many strays? They don’t know when to stop anything. Including money and fights, it’s why there’re so many homeless mutts, man.”
“Awh, shit…” he murmured, dropping down to your level. “Oh, ‘m sorry, sweetheart…”
He rubbed over your shoulder in the awkward pose you passed out in—like Sam, not wanting to adjust you, as to not exacerbate the concussion—in a wordless display of guilt. If he thought you were really hurt (beyond something like a concussion, something the boys deal with weekly), he’d probably be panicking a lot more. But for now? He was just overcome with a great deal of guilt, and an even greater deal of wanting to look into how to deal with wolf hybrids.
authors note pt2: call me crazy but this is one of my favourite one of my own fics, like one of my personal favs out of of all the fanfiction ive written. BUT i still wanna hear your ideas !!
taglist: @mischivana, @nyank0-0, @zuzulovesoad, @gonergirll, @3lliesr1fle
