Chapter Text
“You don’t have to,” he said, for the third time. You continued to ignore him and instead, set your hands on his shoulders.
“All right, twitchy. Stop moving,” you said in exasperation. You were sitting behind him in the Bunker living room. For a moment, you couldn’t help staring at the broad expanse of his naked back, all tan skin and light freckles and lean muscle.
But then you forced yourself to focus on the suture you were only half-finished with for the three small, but deep cuts under his left shoulder.
“You haven’t done this before, have you?” Dean drawled.
You inspected the wound with pursed lips.
Just a couple inches higher and this would’ve been a moot point…
Thinking about that would just make you angrier at the werewolf that slashed him, so you pushed that thought away.
Your hands shook a little with nerves, but you wiped at the bit of blood weeping every time you pulled the thread through his skin.
“It’s not rocket science,” you muttered. Dean was breathing deeply, trying to block out the pain of the sterile needle going through his flesh with a glass of whiskey. He swiped a hand over his tired face.
“Goddamn it. Should’ve just waited for Sam,” he said grumpily.
“Sam’s three states away.” You knew you didn’t have to remind him, but the point was made. Sam was on his own hunt, meaning all Dean had right now was you.
“And you’re not that flexible,” you added with a smirk. His head turned toward you a little, and you caught a glimpse of his lips curving upwards.
“That a challenge, sweetheart?”
You were glad he couldn’t see you blush at the suggestiveness in his deep voice. In that moment, you forced yourself to focus on what you were doing before you gave him a starfish instead of a straight line to close this cut.
But then, the more mischievous part of you suggested that might not be a bad idea. You grinned a little. Maybe next time he does something especially annoying.
Which would probably be tomorrow. Dean loved teasing you, though you hardly knew why.
“What, you taking yoga in your off time?” you teased.
“Not exactly, but close enough I reckon,” Dean replied. You could practically see his insufferable, lascivious smirk, and you were tempted to poke him with the needle…but you thought better of it. You were already causing him enough pain.
Eventually you tied off the suture and admired your handiwork.
“Am I gonna live, doc?” he asked dryly.
“You just might.” But you held fast to his shoulders to stop him from getting up just yet. “Wait, one more thing.”
The muscles in his shoulders and back flexed under your hands, making your face heat up again.
“What now?” he asked. You sensed his impatience, but it really was important.
Grabbing the hydrogen peroxide, you doused some on a cotton ball and gently swabbed around the stitches.
“You already cleaned it before you started,” he said.
“I just want to make sure!” Your brows furrowed in concentration as you finished. Then you got up and went to sit in front of him, swabbing at the small cut above his brow with the unused side of the cotton. Then the red, angry scratch on his hand, just under his thumb.
You tried to avoid looking at his bare (and firm looking) chest, all while tuning out the heat of his stare as you completed your self-appointed task. You were a detail-oriented person by nature, and you were thorough as you dabbed at each cut and laceration. Dean finally piped down, allowing you to work in peace.
But really, he was watching you. First in bemusement at how unnecessary you were being. Then grateful, because you really didn’t have to do this.
And then fond, because not many people outside of Sam were left to care about him as much as you seemed to.
Dean watched the narrow concentration in your beautiful eyes, the way you were biting the inside of your lip.
When you were satisfied you’d cleaned every wound, no matter how small, you smiled to yourself and set down the peroxide and the cotton. That’s when Dean surprised you, taking your hand.
You stared up at him with wide, doe eyes when he pressed the back of your hand to his lips.
“Thanks, sweetheart.”
Your face was set aflame as you looked into his green eyes. They glinted with affection, and his mouth curved against your skin.
Clearing your throat a little, you managed to reply.
“You’re welcome.”
You slowly took your hand back and grabbed all of your medical supplies. But before you left (and before you lost your nerve), you leaned in and kissed Dean on the cheek.
His soft surprise gave way to a smirk as he watched you scurry away.