“Sorry, Sam, sorry. I gotta. You know I’ve gotta…”
Sam whimpers. “’Sokay. Okay.”
On the one hand, he’s relieved to hear Sam speak, but Dean wishes he’d stayed passed out just a little longer so he wouldn’t have to feel this.
And Sam’s looking straight at him, teeth sunk into his lower lip and all Dean can see is trust. Lousy, since Dean’s the one who passed out on him in the woods.
Dean takes a long, shuddering breath and pulls the suture up, trying not think about how he can feel the tug of Sam’s flesh as the line goes taught. He braces himself for a second time, then plunges the needle into the opposite side of the wound and pulls up. He has the basic “U” shape of the knot.
Sam’s breath hisses out as Dean loops the suture around the driver, then completes the first square knot just like Dad taught him.
“Couple more, ‘kay Sammy?”
Sam’s hand has moved down from his shoulder to clutch around Dean’s amulet. He’s pulling so hard the cord’s starting to give.
Dean starts in on a second square knot, and Sam tugs, yanking the necklace loose from around Dean’s throat. A few knots and what seems an eternity later, Dean’s finished playing doctor, and Sam has a stitched up wound to match the one on Dean’s side. Sam’s gone limp against the bathtub, mouth drawn tight and knuckles white from clutching Dean’s amulet.
“Done, Sam. You’re gonna be okay.”
He splashes whiskey over the stitches and offers Sam the bottle. His little brother accepts with shaking hands, knocking it back. He cringes at the taste and it’s just so Sam that Dean smiles.
Smiling feels an awful lot like straining his stitches getting out of bed did.
He scoops Sam up in his arms, carrying him bridal style to the bed, easing him onto the mattress. It’s insane how brittle Sam looks like this; like one wrong move would snap him in two. Reminds him of the time he and Sam tried to move a nest of baby robins from underneath a playground slide when they were kids.
Dean had never held anything so delicate in his life. He’d felt each of the bird’s bones through the skin, hollow weight cradled in his palm; could even feel its pulse, hammering against his thumb.
John’s at the table, nursing his own bottle of Jack. Dean nods at him, and his stony expression collapses, relief written in every line of his face. He leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. That was John’s way. He’d need time to recover from this, the same way Dean would after he made sure Sam was okay.
Dean retrieves fresh blankets from the closet, tucking Sam underneath a mountain of soft cotton and propping his head up with two pillows. Sam closes his eyes, pale and drawn.
Sponge bathes aren’t really his idea of a good time, but his brother needs him, so Dean spends half an hour scrubbing all the filth from Sam’s face, arms, and body. Sam doesn’t protest, just lets Dean clean him up, lifting his arms when he’s told.
“Don’t fucking do that again, you hear me?” Dean grunts, working at a particularly stubborn bit of mud on Sam’s chin.
Sam doesn’t say anything.
“Sam? I’m talking to you.”
But Sam’s already drifted off, the cord of Dean’s amulet tangled in his fingers.
(SORRY this got kinda long, hope you liked!!! \o/)
Wow this was intense. Loved your use of words and detail, especially on describing the blood and both John and Dean were spot on in this one, and Sam drifting off with Dean's amulet in hand was perfect.
I freakin LOVED this. Sam saving and patching up both of them was just magnificent! But I especially loved Dean waking up hurt and trying to put the pieces together while his head's still kind of swimming. And when he finds Sam hurt he goes super protective and won't even let John take care of him. I especially loved that John TRIES to take care of his son; not his fault though that Dean is overprotective.
And Sam pulling Dean's amulet... and Dean whispering reassurances as he does something he KNOWS hurts like hell.
I love when one of the brothers saves the other. And this fic's got a lovely two-for-one deal on that. Thanks!
"Dean had never held anything so delicate in his life. He’d felt each of the bird’s bones through the skin, hollow weight cradled in his palm; could even feel its pulse, hammering against his thumb."
and that is why you are a - a - a wonderful writer. Searching for something that won't sound hyperbolic and stoopid, but this. omg.
“Sorry, Sam, sorry. I gotta. You know I’ve gotta…”
Sam whimpers. “’Sokay. Okay.”
On the one hand, he’s relieved to hear Sam speak, but Dean wishes he’d stayed passed out just a little longer so he wouldn’t have to feel this.
And Sam’s looking straight at him, teeth sunk into his lower lip and all Dean can see is trust. Lousy, since Dean’s the one who passed out on him in the woods.
Dean takes a long, shuddering breath and pulls the suture up, trying not think about how he can feel the tug of Sam’s flesh as the line goes taught. He braces himself for a second time, then plunges the needle into the opposite side of the wound and pulls up. He has the basic “U” shape of the knot.
Sam’s breath hisses out as Dean loops the suture around the driver, then completes the first square knot just like Dad taught him.
“Couple more, ‘kay Sammy?”
Sam’s hand has moved down from his shoulder to clutch around Dean’s amulet. He’s pulling so hard the cord’s starting to give.
Dean starts in on a second square knot, and Sam tugs, yanking the necklace loose from around Dean’s throat.
A few knots and what seems an eternity later, Dean’s finished playing doctor, and Sam has a stitched up wound to match the one on Dean’s side. Sam’s gone limp against the bathtub, mouth drawn tight and knuckles white from clutching Dean’s amulet.
“Done, Sam. You’re gonna be okay.”
He splashes whiskey over the stitches and offers Sam the bottle. His little brother accepts with shaking hands, knocking it back. He cringes at the taste and it’s just so Sam that Dean smiles.
Smiling feels an awful lot like straining his stitches getting out of bed did.
He scoops Sam up in his arms, carrying him bridal style to the bed, easing him onto the mattress. It’s insane how brittle Sam looks like this; like one wrong move would snap him in two. Reminds him of the time he and Sam tried to move a nest of baby robins from underneath a playground slide when they were kids.
Dean had never held anything so delicate in his life. He’d felt each of the bird’s bones through the skin, hollow weight cradled in his palm; could even feel its pulse, hammering against his thumb.
John’s at the table, nursing his own bottle of Jack. Dean nods at him, and his stony expression collapses, relief written in every line of his face. He leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. That was John’s way. He’d need time to recover from this, the same way Dean would after he made sure Sam was okay.
Dean retrieves fresh blankets from the closet, tucking Sam underneath a mountain of soft cotton and propping his head up with two pillows. Sam closes his eyes, pale and drawn.
Sponge bathes aren’t really his idea of a good time, but his brother needs him, so Dean spends half an hour scrubbing all the filth from Sam’s face, arms, and body. Sam doesn’t protest, just lets Dean clean him up, lifting his arms when he’s told.
“Don’t fucking do that again, you hear me?” Dean grunts, working at a particularly stubborn bit of mud on Sam’s chin.
Sam doesn’t say anything.
“Sam? I’m talking to you.”
But Sam’s already drifted off, the cord of Dean’s amulet tangled in his fingers.
(SORRY this got kinda long, hope you liked!!! \o/)
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And Sam pulling Dean's amulet... and Dean whispering reassurances as he does something he KNOWS hurts like hell.
I love when one of the brothers saves the other. And this fic's got a lovely two-for-one deal on that. Thanks!
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and that is why you are a - a - a wonderful writer. Searching for something that won't sound hyperbolic and stoopid, but this. omg.
eeeeeeeeeEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeee.
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