Fic: Fallen
Ok, supernatural fic ahoy! It's not beta'ed which is why it's here and not on the supernatural coms. I also know that most of you have no interest in Supernatural, so feel free to skip. But there are hot mens in this show.
Sam groaned. Dean would undoubtedly laugh his head off if he saw this. Glancing at himself in the mirror, Sam figured he should be happy to be able to hide the worst of the damage. Thank god for long sleeved shirts and cool weather. He hissed out a breath as he pulled out the first aid kit. The one Jess always chided him about having. It wasn't so much that she felt they shouldn't have one, it was more that she liked to tease him about his preparedness. His first aid kit was more complete than most doctors' offices. Sam shook his head and immediately regretted it.
Opening the box, he glanced again at the mirror. Most of the bruising hadn't started yet, but he did have a nice gash in his left arm and another one on his leg. He'd have to disinfect that. No telling what was on the floor he'd landed on. He gingerly touched his left shoulder. It was tender, stiff and sore but didn't move in strange places when he probed it. Not dislocated then. That was something. He might actually have gotten out of this with just his dignity in tatters.
Pulling out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide he awkwardly splashed it onto a cotton ball. Dean was always better at this than he was. Dean was the one that patched them all up. Sam was always first, then Dad, Dean last. He'd always wondered about that. It wasn't easy manipulating wounds when you were busted up yourself. The one time he'd asked, Dean had given him a disgusted look and said he couldn't work around bandages. All right fair enough, but it wasn't the whole story and Sam knew it. He figured it had more to do with Dean not being able to relax until they were fixed. Dean and his obsession with being the martyr. Sam shook his head, this was not the time to think about his older brother.
He hissed as he gingerly patted the cotton ball over the gash in his arm. Doesn't hurt, my ass, Sam thought. He watched the small bubbles, the more it bubbled the more crap had gotten into the wound. It had scared him when he was little, the white bubbly liquid Dean would splash onto their scraps and cuts. Dean had looked at him and said, too seriously for a boy of ten, “would I give you something that would kill you?” Sam had shook his head and that was the end of it. Until high school when Sam had learned that hydrogen peroxide was poisonous. He'd thrown the comment back in Dean's face. Dean had simply looked at him and said “You're not dead, are you?”
Sam shook his head. He really needed to stop thinking about what Dean would do. He wasn't here, hadn't been for years now. Sam felt a flash of hurt that had nothing to do with his current injuries. It had been his own decision, but that had never stopped Dean from doing what Dean wanted anyway. Especially when it came to Sam. The only thing that stopped Dean was Dad. Dad could put the kibosh on anything Dean did quicker than Dean could pick up a woman. Still would it have killed Dean to call? Let Sam know he and Dad were still alive?
He wasn't being fair and he knew it. There was nothing stopping him from calling either. Nothing except not wanting to talk about Dad or the hunting or the scams. God, that had been the worst. The scams, the hustling. If they were doing good work, how come their living came from cons? Dad had never been able to explain that one to Sam's satisfaction and it was that more than anything else that had pushed Sam away from his family, from their life. Just once he wanted Dad to acknowledge that what they were doing was wrong. That normal people didn't scam credit cards. Normal people paid off their bills and didn't use their kids to hustle pool.
Sam grimaced as he bandaged up his arm and looked at the rest of his body. The bruises were starting now. Deep ugly purple ones. He hissed as he probed them gently and he could almost hear Dean saying “Suck it up, pussy!” It made him snort and touch his brow where he'd apparently smacked his head on the way down. It was tender but again, nothing moved under his touch, so there was no fracture. The hard headed Winchester men strike again.
Finishing the first aid, he grabbed the bottle of pain reliever from box. Six hundred milligrams of motrin, usually only available by prescription or free from the Health Center on campus. Grumbling slightly about the indecency of childproof caps on the injured he popped open the bottle and drew one out before going to search for milk.
No, he amended silently, Dean wouldn't laugh at him. Not immediately. Not until he was bandaged up and properly cared for. He tossed the pill to the back of his throat and downed the milk. He could almost hear Dean's voice. “You fell down a flight of steps? Sober? If I were you, I'd tell everyone you were drunk, dude.”
Sam groaned. Dean would undoubtedly laugh his head off if he saw this. Glancing at himself in the mirror, Sam figured he should be happy to be able to hide the worst of the damage. Thank god for long sleeved shirts and cool weather. He hissed out a breath as he pulled out the first aid kit. The one Jess always chided him about having. It wasn't so much that she felt they shouldn't have one, it was more that she liked to tease him about his preparedness. His first aid kit was more complete than most doctors' offices. Sam shook his head and immediately regretted it.
Opening the box, he glanced again at the mirror. Most of the bruising hadn't started yet, but he did have a nice gash in his left arm and another one on his leg. He'd have to disinfect that. No telling what was on the floor he'd landed on. He gingerly touched his left shoulder. It was tender, stiff and sore but didn't move in strange places when he probed it. Not dislocated then. That was something. He might actually have gotten out of this with just his dignity in tatters.
Pulling out the bottle of hydrogen peroxide he awkwardly splashed it onto a cotton ball. Dean was always better at this than he was. Dean was the one that patched them all up. Sam was always first, then Dad, Dean last. He'd always wondered about that. It wasn't easy manipulating wounds when you were busted up yourself. The one time he'd asked, Dean had given him a disgusted look and said he couldn't work around bandages. All right fair enough, but it wasn't the whole story and Sam knew it. He figured it had more to do with Dean not being able to relax until they were fixed. Dean and his obsession with being the martyr. Sam shook his head, this was not the time to think about his older brother.
He hissed as he gingerly patted the cotton ball over the gash in his arm. Doesn't hurt, my ass, Sam thought. He watched the small bubbles, the more it bubbled the more crap had gotten into the wound. It had scared him when he was little, the white bubbly liquid Dean would splash onto their scraps and cuts. Dean had looked at him and said, too seriously for a boy of ten, “would I give you something that would kill you?” Sam had shook his head and that was the end of it. Until high school when Sam had learned that hydrogen peroxide was poisonous. He'd thrown the comment back in Dean's face. Dean had simply looked at him and said “You're not dead, are you?”
Sam shook his head. He really needed to stop thinking about what Dean would do. He wasn't here, hadn't been for years now. Sam felt a flash of hurt that had nothing to do with his current injuries. It had been his own decision, but that had never stopped Dean from doing what Dean wanted anyway. Especially when it came to Sam. The only thing that stopped Dean was Dad. Dad could put the kibosh on anything Dean did quicker than Dean could pick up a woman. Still would it have killed Dean to call? Let Sam know he and Dad were still alive?
He wasn't being fair and he knew it. There was nothing stopping him from calling either. Nothing except not wanting to talk about Dad or the hunting or the scams. God, that had been the worst. The scams, the hustling. If they were doing good work, how come their living came from cons? Dad had never been able to explain that one to Sam's satisfaction and it was that more than anything else that had pushed Sam away from his family, from their life. Just once he wanted Dad to acknowledge that what they were doing was wrong. That normal people didn't scam credit cards. Normal people paid off their bills and didn't use their kids to hustle pool.
Sam grimaced as he bandaged up his arm and looked at the rest of his body. The bruises were starting now. Deep ugly purple ones. He hissed as he probed them gently and he could almost hear Dean saying “Suck it up, pussy!” It made him snort and touch his brow where he'd apparently smacked his head on the way down. It was tender but again, nothing moved under his touch, so there was no fracture. The hard headed Winchester men strike again.
Finishing the first aid, he grabbed the bottle of pain reliever from box. Six hundred milligrams of motrin, usually only available by prescription or free from the Health Center on campus. Grumbling slightly about the indecency of childproof caps on the injured he popped open the bottle and drew one out before going to search for milk.
No, he amended silently, Dean wouldn't laugh at him. Not immediately. Not until he was bandaged up and properly cared for. He tossed the pill to the back of his throat and downed the milk. He could almost hear Dean's voice. “You fell down a flight of steps? Sober? If I were you, I'd tell everyone you were drunk, dude.”