FILLED: Angry Spirits Don't Care about Mud 2/2 (quick note at the bottom)
“I couldn’t just leave the dog in there Dean,” Sam protested.
It was as good a cue as any to begin the first stitch.
Sam winced at the sting then relayed what happened. “Pretty much the same as before. The whole no one is selling the family home. He started throwing things. Dropped the chandelier. I found the dog hiding behind the chair and hauled ass.”
“What got in your arm?” Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. “Mirror maybe?” He really did not remember specifics. “I guess he escalated when he realized what we were doing.”
“Oh you think, genius?” Dean carefully moved the needle in and out of skin with years of practice of closing up wounds, usually Sam’s. Gentle hands were a contrast to his harsh voice which contained enough annoyance to drown the anxiety. The mutt was yapping frantically and Old Man Sanders great-grand daughter started screaming frantically. It seemed perfectly logical to Dean to stay out of the way of the chaos swirling inside of the house, but no, Sam had to run right on in to save the day, or at least the dog. Dean could not get the hat to burn fast enough because of the damn rain. Sam ran out yapping dog in hand. Dean watched as Sam handed off the yapper and then collapsed face first into the enormous puddle of water. It was rather amusing at first. Served him right for running right into the house. Sam slowly pulled himself up but was choking on the nasty rain water he had taken in. Something was wrong. Dean swore profusely and the hat finally burned sending Old Man Sanders straight to hell or wherever.
Dean tied off the thread and snipped it.
“Thanks Dean,” Sam said, his voice dull with exhaustion.
He made short work of cleaning and bandaging the head wound as well as bandaging his handiwork. “You good?” He asked Sam as he began putting the kit back together.
“Fine.”
“What about that wall?”
Sam shrugged. “As good as ever,” he replied.
Dean grunted a non-committal response. “Need help getting cleaned up?”
Sam huffed. “I can handle that on my own Dean.”
“I’ll get you clean clothes and order dinner.”
Dean kept the TV volume low while he waited so he would be able to hear Sam. He had lost blood and a head wound not matter how seemingly minor was nothing to play with. He refused to even consider any damage to the wall that kept the memories of the Cage at bay.
The pizza was delivered and soon after, Sam emerged from the bathroom, steam following. He was now dressed in warm sweat pants, a tee-shirt, and his hair was tucked behind his ears. “Better?”
“Warmer.”
They ate and watched mindless TV. Dean continuously slid his eyes to his little brother to make sure there were no ill effects from the injuries and mud bath. Sam stayed pale and shivered slightly. Competently answered questions from idle questions assured him Sam’s faculties were working.
Adrenaline wore off, pain pills kicked in, and Sam’s eyes fell. He tumbled into his bed and pulled the covers to his chin.
“We’ll stay here a few days. Sleep. Laundry,” Dean told him. Sam mumbled something utterly incoherent in response. “And next time your older and much wiser brother says Sammy do not go into that house, what will you do?”
Sam extracted an arm and replied with another one finger salute. He then punched the pillow, turned over, and settled deeper into the warmth of the covers.
Dean grunted, content that Sam would be fine. He knew, however, what Sam would do the next time he told him not to run back into the house. At least maybe next time it wouldn’t be raining.
END Note: The part 1 post wouldn't let me edit so sticking this at the end. Takes place in Season 6 between the building of the Great Wall of Sam and the destruction of said wall. Also, my first comment story. WOO! i had fun writing it. Great prompt! I hope it lives up
“I couldn’t just leave the dog in there Dean,” Sam protested.
It was as good a cue as any to begin the first stitch.
Sam winced at the sting then relayed what happened. “Pretty much the same as before. The whole no one is selling the family home. He started throwing things. Dropped the chandelier. I found the dog hiding behind the chair and hauled ass.”
“What got in your arm?” Dean asked.
Sam shrugged. “Mirror maybe?” He really did not remember specifics. “I guess he escalated when he realized what we were doing.”
“Oh you think, genius?” Dean carefully moved the needle in and out of skin with years of practice of closing up wounds, usually Sam’s. Gentle hands were a contrast to his harsh voice which contained enough annoyance to drown the anxiety. The mutt was yapping frantically and Old Man Sanders great-grand daughter started screaming frantically. It seemed perfectly logical to Dean to stay out of the way of the chaos swirling inside of the house, but no, Sam had to run right on in to save the day, or at least the dog. Dean could not get the hat to burn fast enough because of the damn rain. Sam ran out yapping dog in hand. Dean watched as Sam handed off the yapper and then collapsed face first into the enormous puddle of water. It was rather amusing at first. Served him right for running right into the house. Sam slowly pulled himself up but was choking on the nasty rain water he had taken in. Something was wrong. Dean swore profusely and the hat finally burned sending Old Man Sanders straight to hell or wherever.
Dean tied off the thread and snipped it.
“Thanks Dean,” Sam said, his voice dull with exhaustion.
He made short work of cleaning and bandaging the head wound as well as bandaging his handiwork. “You good?” He asked Sam as he began putting the kit back together.
“Fine.”
“What about that wall?”
Sam shrugged. “As good as ever,” he replied.
Dean grunted a non-committal response. “Need help getting cleaned up?”
Sam huffed. “I can handle that on my own Dean.”
“I’ll get you clean clothes and order dinner.”
Dean kept the TV volume low while he waited so he would be able to hear Sam. He had lost blood and a head wound not matter how seemingly minor was nothing to play with. He refused to even consider any damage to the wall that kept the memories of the Cage at bay.
The pizza was delivered and soon after, Sam emerged from the bathroom, steam following. He was now dressed in warm sweat pants, a tee-shirt, and his hair was tucked behind his ears. “Better?”
“Warmer.”
They ate and watched mindless TV. Dean continuously slid his eyes to his little brother to make sure there were no ill effects from the injuries and mud bath. Sam stayed pale and shivered slightly. Competently answered questions from idle questions assured him Sam’s faculties were working.
Adrenaline wore off, pain pills kicked in, and Sam’s eyes fell. He tumbled into his bed and pulled the covers to his chin.
“We’ll stay here a few days. Sleep. Laundry,” Dean told him. Sam mumbled something utterly incoherent in response. “And next time your older and much wiser brother says Sammy do not go into that house, what will you do?”
Sam extracted an arm and replied with another one finger salute. He then punched the pillow, turned over, and settled deeper into the warmth of the covers.
Dean grunted, content that Sam would be fine. He knew, however, what Sam would do the next time he told him not to run back into the house. At least maybe next time it wouldn’t be raining.
END
Note: The part 1 post wouldn't let me edit so sticking this at the end.
Takes place in Season 6 between the building of the Great Wall of Sam and the destruction of said wall. Also, my first comment story. WOO! i had fun writing it. Great prompt! I hope it lives up
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