I Don't Bite [Dean Winchester x Reader]

Fur

"Get up, Winchesters!" I shouted before jumping onto the bed, shifting mid-air. I landed paws first beside the younger Winchester brother and bumped his cheek with my wet nose. Sam groaned and threw his hands up, swatting at my fur. I growled and licked a stripe up his cheek.

Sam immediately jolted up, vigorously wiping the slobber of his cheek with his blankets.

Unfazed by his disgust, I bounded over him and leaped onto the other bed, where Dean still slept, blankets tangled around his waist. He slept on his stomach, lips parted and green eyes tightly shut. I tackled him, knocking him off the edge of the bed, the blankets falling with him. He hit the floor with a loud yelp.

Dean swore and sat up suddenly, only to find himself nose to nose with a very hyperactive wolf.

He groaned, rolling onto his back and throwing his arm over his eyes. "So it wasn't just a bad dream. We did actually adopt a mutt."

I shifted back into my skin and glared at the elder brother, arms folded tightly over my chest in indignation. "I am not a mutt, Winchester," I growled, holding her head high. "And I'll have you know that I think any dream about me would be a pleasant one."

Sam laughed from the other side of the room. "Only if you're a dog-lover-"

"- Which I," interjected Dean, "am not." He mumbled some swear words under his breath and stood to his feet, dragging the blankets with him, dumping them onto the bed. "Especially not untrained, glorified dogs."

"Mm, that's a shame, considering you're about to be waist deep in a horde of them," I joked, bumping him in the shoulder with my fist.

"They're not dogs, they're monsters," Dean retorted, pulling a gun from under his pillow and slipping it onto his hip. How he managed to sleep with a holster was beyond me.

"Yet I'm a mutt?" I questioned, pursing my lips and frowning teasingly.

"You're the exception."

I growled playfully and slipped off the edge of the bed. "Whatever, Winchester. Just get up. I'm eager for a fight."

Dean glowered at the wad of tangled blankets. "No reasonable hunter should be eager for a fight."

I glanced ruefully over my shoulder, taking in his deliciously disheveled appearance. "I'm not a hunter, Dean. I'm a mutt."

A smile crept onto his face.

---

With the Impala loaded and ready to go, the three of us exited the empty motel parking lot. The sun had just peeked over the tops of the trees, leaving the sky filled with a gray and pink tint. It was still early in the morning and a sleepy feeling hung in the air.

Sam had pulled up directions for the skinwalker base on his GPS. I had only been there once and frankly I never wanted to return. I wanted nothing with anything involving the typical skinwalker lifestyle. I didn't want a pack, or to hunt humans or anything else that came with the skinwalker title. I just wanted to be left alone.

Why wouldn't they just leave me alone?

Sam turned to glance at me in the backseat and creased his eyebrows with worry. "You look unsettled," he commented. I nodded and fiddled with my fingers restlessly

"I am," I agreed, avoiding eye contact. "I'm nervous. I've fought before but... it's been a while." There was more to it than that. I didn't like fighting, or the thought of having to take a life. I shivered at the thought.

"When was the last time you fought?"

I paused to think. "With a human? Before my uncle... left. We used to spar all the time, but it was never a life or death situation. Even on hunts with him I was never too concerned," I grumbled. Whatever monster we were hunting, I doubted it would be able to kill me. I was too fast, agile. Too strong. And besides, to my knowledge I could only be killed by silver, or another skinwalker. "I'm certainly not rusty. You'd be surprised with how much spunk alligators have in them."