Insult to Injury (Dean, Sam, Castiel, PG-13) Part 3/7maskedfangirlMarch 31 2010, 00:39:10 UTC
Dean’s actually kind of grateful for his stupid brother right now. They’re both still irritable from the heat and bickering across the room every other breath, but the moment it looked like Castiel wasn’t going to die on them immediately, Sam got out his laptop and dove into research mode. It makes Dean feel like at least one of them is doing something to help. He’s spent the last half-hour painstakingly peeling off angel clothes and bandaging wounds that won’t stop spreading, while Castiel looks up at him groggily with this face. It’s like a little Sammy face, an “I’m sick and I’m counting on you for soup” face, and Christ, Dean doesn’t know what to do do with that when it’s coming from the being that ripped him out of Hell. He draws a wet rag across the fresh scrapes on the side of Castiel’s face and wipes blood off his cracked lips.
“What were the herbs in that powder the witch threw on you?” Sam calls from across the room, and Castiel responds with a couple of names that sound like he made them up on the spot. Sam types, then swears. “I know what it is.”
“Care to share with the class?”
“You’re not gonna like it.” Sam leans back in his creaky chair, which looks way too small to support him. “There’s only one curse that uses those exact ingredients. It turns emotional hurt into physical wounds, crippling the victim with every hurtful little comment and eventually killing them.”
“You’re kidding me, right? All this is because he’s a sensitive little flower?”
“Dean,” Castiel gasps, a cut slicing the length of his cheek.
“Dude,” Sam says, giving him an incredulous look. “Look, until we kill this witch, we’ve got to stop with the insults and bitching, for Castiel’s sake. We’ve got to be…” He makes an uncomfortable face. “Nice.”
“Well, that’s just awesome,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Castiel chokes slightly, and his eyes roll back.
“No sarcasm, either, I guess,” Sam adds.
Dean drops his face into his hands and lets out the least bitchy groan he can manage.
“What were the herbs in that powder the witch threw on you?” Sam calls from across the room, and Castiel responds with a couple of names that sound like he made them up on the spot. Sam types, then swears. “I know what it is.”
“Care to share with the class?”
“You’re not gonna like it.” Sam leans back in his creaky chair, which looks way too small to support him. “There’s only one curse that uses those exact ingredients. It turns emotional hurt into physical wounds, crippling the victim with every hurtful little comment and eventually killing them.”
“You’re kidding me, right? All this is because he’s a sensitive little flower?”
“Dean,” Castiel gasps, a cut slicing the length of his cheek.
“Dude,” Sam says, giving him an incredulous look. “Look, until we kill this witch, we’ve got to stop with the insults and bitching, for Castiel’s sake. We’ve got to be…” He makes an uncomfortable face. “Nice.”
“Well, that’s just awesome,” Dean says, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Castiel chokes slightly, and his eyes roll back.
“No sarcasm, either, I guess,” Sam adds.
Dean drops his face into his hands and lets out the least bitchy groan he can manage.
***
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