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TRIPLE PLAY at OhSam!
Let’s try something a little different for September at ohsam! We’re calling it the Triple Play Challenge and here’s the deal …
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Author's Note: Warnings for blood and language. Sorry this is so short - hopefully someone will make some art to do this beautiful prompt more justice than I can.
---
“Castiel?” Dean’s voice rings out, hesitant but it’s enough to jolt Kevin out of his trance, scaring him into action as he hears a door slam. There’s a pause and the sound of shuffling, then quiet murmuring.
“You’re gonna be okay, you’re gonna be okay,” he makes out as he rounds the corner. He’s greeted by the sight of one very panicked-looking Dean and one very unconscious Sam.
“What the hell,” Kevin hears himself say, because what the hell.
Dean’s eyes dart up to his for maybe a heartbeat. His hands -blood-stained oh fuck that’s not good, not good- run through Sam’s hair as the younger brother whimpers low in his throat, still unconscious.
“Something’s in him,” Dean says gutturally. “In his - in his arms. Need to get it out.”
Kevin blinks then nods, knowing the time for further questioning will come later. Dean snaps quick instructions at him and he obliges, putting the surgical knife Dean requests on the bedside table. Dean glances at it and mutters something under his breath as Sam shifts again. Kevin sees something ripple in his arms and his eyes go wide.
“Stay with him,” Dean commands suddenly. He leans down and whispers something indiscernable next to Sam’s ear before bolting out of the room.
At a loss, Kevin slumps down next to Sam, watching unsurely as Sam’s hands twitch and flutter. A few times, Sam’s eyes blink open, unseeing. Kevin reaches out but Sam only flinches away, nonsense mumblings slipping out. “Sarah - Jess, no, didn’t want this...”
Then Dean is back, a leather-covered book clutched in one hand as the other scrabbles through the pages. “Where’s the knife?” Dean asks, grabbing it before Kevin can answer. He can only watch, stunned, as Dean finds the page he was searching for; on it is a hand-drawn image of a bleeding man and a sigil. It takes him about two seconds to figure it out.
“You’re doing that to Sam, aren’t you?”
“Scarification,” Dean confirms. “Best chance we’ve got. Hold him down best you can.”
And that’s a joke because Sam’s a built like a fucking linebacker and now he’s trembling, tremors coursing through his frame and how the hell are they going to do this?
And now Dean’s cutting into his own brother, one hand on the knife and one pressing down on his wrist to still it. Sam moans and writhes under their grips and that is not blood blood is not black oh God help.
Dean’s all instinct at this point, he can see that, but there’s the heart in the eyes and the fire that burns hot for his brother as he keeps up a continuous stream of reassurances and it’ll be okays. Kevin blinks at the fierce emotion -love, he thinks, so Dean Winchester does love- and when he opens his eyes Dean is throwing the bloodied knife to the floor.
He hurriedly presses a towel against Sam’s arm, and when he takes it off it comes back slicked with black.
---
Sam is quiet now.
Kevin counts to two hundred as he watches Dean secure bandages around Sam’s forearm. At a hundred and seventy-eight, Dean explains.
“It was the trials,” he says, as if it could be anything else. “They were going to - uh, to. Kill him. If he finished.” Nearly did, still might goes unsaid.
“He’ll be okay,” Kevin says.
“Yeah.” Dean swallows, nods twice. “Yeah, I know he will. He’s got to.”
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