Just Hang On
Title: Just Hang On
Author: el_spirito23
Characters: Dean, Sam
Genre/pairing: H/C, none
Rating: PG-13
Word-count: 888
Spoilers: None
Warnings: A bit of violence and a dash of language
Prompt: While on a hunt, the boys split up and Dean is impaled on something (a deer antler, a metal pipe, a jutting, broken-off piece of wood?) sticking out of the wall when he's knocked into it by the monster-of-the week. He has to try to stay conscious while blood loss and pain make him very badly want to pass out.
Mirror prompt: Dean is blind.
Disclaimer: The Winchesters aren't mine.
Since his accident, Dean’s become entirely more intimate with his brother’s voice than he’d ever thought possible. He can hear the nuances in Sam’s tones, can tell the difference between concerned and worried and panicked in only a word or two, and apparently even two years apart hasn’t changed that. Because Dean can tell that right now, Sam is scared shitless.
“Dean, just a minute, okay? Just hang on.”
Dean grunts, shifting as little as he can in an attempt to keep his tenuous footing.
“Is this- is this rebar?” He gasps, one hand coming up to poke at the metal jutting out of his side.
“Looks like,” Sam answers tersely.
“Sucks out loud,” Dean says breathlessly.
Sam doesn’t say anything, but Dean can picture him nodding shortly before getting back to his ritual whatever. He feels a pang of guilt, again, that he isn’t at Sam’s side, watching his back. Instead, he’s stuck on his tiptoes, a stick of rebar poking out of his side.
He’d fucked up. Badly.
Being blind hadn’t been that much of a hindrance, which had come as a surprise, both to him and to Sam. His sense of hearing and of smell had increased, and his training had been so entrenched from such an early age that he’d been able to remain relatively reliable on the hunt. Of course, having Sam at his back helped too.
Wincing again, Dean lets out a breathless laugh. Well, it hadn’t been much of a hindrance, until today.
The nice and easy salt and burn had shifted dramatically when they’d realized their ghost had dabbled in voodoo-shit while alive, which meant that Sam had to do some of his own voodoo-shit to counteract it. It had been going fine, Sam setting up the stuff he needed, Dean standing protectively over him, shotgun cocked and ready, listening for the slightest sound-
And then Sam had shifted and Dean hadn’t seen it coming and had been knocked off balance, stumbling across the salt line. Suddenly, he was flying through the air, before coming to a jarring halt- onto a stick of rebar that was inexplicably poking from the wall. The way it had pierced his side meant that he was forced to stand on his tiptoes or risk the rebar tearing through his body even more.
“No, Dean, you stay awake. Damn it, stay awake!”
Dean starts at the sound of his brother’s shout and lets out a strangled sob as his side once again erupts into a ball of agony. He hadn’t even realized he’d nodded off.
“’M awake,” he mumbles, bringing a trembling hand to touch hesitantly at the source of his pain.
“Don’t touch!” Sam snaps. Dean begrudgingly puts his hand down, instead clenching his fist in an attempt to ride out the pain. Sam must notice, because when he speaks next, his voice is even tighter with worry.
“Almost done, Dean. Just hang on.”
Instead, he focuses on breathing evenly, and on keeping his fragile footing, and on not freaking out over the disturbing amount of blood he can feel flowing down his side.
“Dean! Damn it,” Sam yells again, and this time Dean startles badly enough that he can feel something in his side tear a little bit. He screams.
“Sammy,” he moans, his voice trailing off. He can feel his eyelids slipping shut and shakes his head slightly, refusing to fall asleep. He can’t. He won’t.
“Dean, don’t you dare. I will drag your ass back, you know I will,” Sam snarls, and Dean can hear the underlying panic as Dean pants for air around the pain. “Talk to me, bro. Just keep yourself awake.”
Dean tries not to laugh, wondering what the hell makes for appropriate conversation when you’re hanging on a piece of rebar, and is slightly concerned when a coppery warm taste comes into his mouth. Not good.
“’m sorry,” he mumbles finally, his words slurring.
“What the hell are you sorry for?” Sam demands, and Dean can hear him pounding something, probably herbs of some sort, then a slight hiss as he undoubtedly adds some of his own blood to the herbs.
“Jus’ lucky you didn’ get hurt too,” he manages. “Coulda screwed up th’ salt line.”
“Damn it Dean, you mean when you stumbled? I shoved you, man. My fault, not yours.”
Dean wants to argue, he really does, but his tongue seems stuck to the roof of his mouth and the copper taste is back. Sam swears and starts chanting, so Dean figures it’s almost over.
Just as his strength gives out, as his feet slip out from under him, strong arms catch him under the armpits and something is pressed up against his bleeding side.
“I got you, Dean,” Sammy whispers. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when I pull you off, but I’ve got you.”
Dean feels a thrill of fear even as he relishes the feel of Sam’s hands keeping him grounded.
“’M I gonna make it?” Dean mutters. He isn’t stupid, and he knows that he’s gonna be losing an awful lot of blood once the rebar comes out.
Sam lets out a squeak, half panicked and half startled, then thumbs Dean’s forehead.
“Course you’re going to be okay, dumbass,” he soothes. “I’m here.”
Dean smiles weakly and braces himself for the pain.
Author: el_spirito23
Characters: Dean, Sam
Genre/pairing: H/C, none
Rating: PG-13
Word-count: 888
Spoilers: None
Warnings: A bit of violence and a dash of language
Prompt: While on a hunt, the boys split up and Dean is impaled on something (a deer antler, a metal pipe, a jutting, broken-off piece of wood?) sticking out of the wall when he's knocked into it by the monster-of-the week. He has to try to stay conscious while blood loss and pain make him very badly want to pass out.
Mirror prompt: Dean is blind.
Disclaimer: The Winchesters aren't mine.
Since his accident, Dean’s become entirely more intimate with his brother’s voice than he’d ever thought possible. He can hear the nuances in Sam’s tones, can tell the difference between concerned and worried and panicked in only a word or two, and apparently even two years apart hasn’t changed that. Because Dean can tell that right now, Sam is scared shitless.
“Dean, just a minute, okay? Just hang on.”
Dean grunts, shifting as little as he can in an attempt to keep his tenuous footing.
“Is this- is this rebar?” He gasps, one hand coming up to poke at the metal jutting out of his side.
“Looks like,” Sam answers tersely.
“Sucks out loud,” Dean says breathlessly.
Sam doesn’t say anything, but Dean can picture him nodding shortly before getting back to his ritual whatever. He feels a pang of guilt, again, that he isn’t at Sam’s side, watching his back. Instead, he’s stuck on his tiptoes, a stick of rebar poking out of his side.
He’d fucked up. Badly.
Being blind hadn’t been that much of a hindrance, which had come as a surprise, both to him and to Sam. His sense of hearing and of smell had increased, and his training had been so entrenched from such an early age that he’d been able to remain relatively reliable on the hunt. Of course, having Sam at his back helped too.
Wincing again, Dean lets out a breathless laugh. Well, it hadn’t been much of a hindrance, until today.
The nice and easy salt and burn had shifted dramatically when they’d realized their ghost had dabbled in voodoo-shit while alive, which meant that Sam had to do some of his own voodoo-shit to counteract it. It had been going fine, Sam setting up the stuff he needed, Dean standing protectively over him, shotgun cocked and ready, listening for the slightest sound-
And then Sam had shifted and Dean hadn’t seen it coming and had been knocked off balance, stumbling across the salt line. Suddenly, he was flying through the air, before coming to a jarring halt- onto a stick of rebar that was inexplicably poking from the wall. The way it had pierced his side meant that he was forced to stand on his tiptoes or risk the rebar tearing through his body even more.
“No, Dean, you stay awake. Damn it, stay awake!”
Dean starts at the sound of his brother’s shout and lets out a strangled sob as his side once again erupts into a ball of agony. He hadn’t even realized he’d nodded off.
“’M awake,” he mumbles, bringing a trembling hand to touch hesitantly at the source of his pain.
“Don’t touch!” Sam snaps. Dean begrudgingly puts his hand down, instead clenching his fist in an attempt to ride out the pain. Sam must notice, because when he speaks next, his voice is even tighter with worry.
“Almost done, Dean. Just hang on.”
Instead, he focuses on breathing evenly, and on keeping his fragile footing, and on not freaking out over the disturbing amount of blood he can feel flowing down his side.
“Dean! Damn it,” Sam yells again, and this time Dean startles badly enough that he can feel something in his side tear a little bit. He screams.
“Sammy,” he moans, his voice trailing off. He can feel his eyelids slipping shut and shakes his head slightly, refusing to fall asleep. He can’t. He won’t.
“Dean, don’t you dare. I will drag your ass back, you know I will,” Sam snarls, and Dean can hear the underlying panic as Dean pants for air around the pain. “Talk to me, bro. Just keep yourself awake.”
Dean tries not to laugh, wondering what the hell makes for appropriate conversation when you’re hanging on a piece of rebar, and is slightly concerned when a coppery warm taste comes into his mouth. Not good.
“’m sorry,” he mumbles finally, his words slurring.
“What the hell are you sorry for?” Sam demands, and Dean can hear him pounding something, probably herbs of some sort, then a slight hiss as he undoubtedly adds some of his own blood to the herbs.
“Jus’ lucky you didn’ get hurt too,” he manages. “Coulda screwed up th’ salt line.”
“Damn it Dean, you mean when you stumbled? I shoved you, man. My fault, not yours.”
Dean wants to argue, he really does, but his tongue seems stuck to the roof of his mouth and the copper taste is back. Sam swears and starts chanting, so Dean figures it’s almost over.
Just as his strength gives out, as his feet slip out from under him, strong arms catch him under the armpits and something is pressed up against his bleeding side.
“I got you, Dean,” Sammy whispers. “It’s gonna hurt like hell when I pull you off, but I’ve got you.”
Dean feels a thrill of fear even as he relishes the feel of Sam’s hands keeping him grounded.
“’M I gonna make it?” Dean mutters. He isn’t stupid, and he knows that he’s gonna be losing an awful lot of blood once the rebar comes out.
Sam lets out a squeak, half panicked and half startled, then thumbs Dean’s forehead.
“Course you’re going to be okay, dumbass,” he soothes. “I’m here.”
Dean smiles weakly and braces himself for the pain.