OhSam Triple Play 2015!
The comm hosted this little event a couple of years ago, and as November 2 is an auspicious day for our darling Sam, today would be the perfect time to revisit this challenge. Welcome to the Triple Play 2015!
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The thing was, it wasn't even anything serious. The hunt had been almost underwhelming--actually, most everything was, what with the apocalypse raging.
Still, Sam was hurt. Dean pulled the Impala over under a decent streetlamp.
"Are we stopping?" Sam's voice was weary.
"Don't have the new credit cards. We're going to have to rough it tonight," Dean said (not apologetically, it wasn't his fault).
Sam glanced out the window. "Couldn't you find somewhere darker? That light's going to keep me up all night."
"We gotta take care of your back, first," Dean explained. "I'd rather not attempt to juggle a flashlight while doing so."
Sam's expression was unreadable. "Dean, it's not that bad. All I need is a shower or a hose to rinse it off. I don't even think there's any broken skin."
"Well, we'd have to see to know, right?"
"I'm serious, Dean. Just leave it. Doesn't even hurt."
Dean weighed that. On the one hand, it was going to be difficult to even perform decent first aid on the side of the road. On the other, he hated thinking that--despite what Sam might claim--his brother would be in pain the whole night until they managed to find some kind of motel or abandoned cabin.
Well, it wasn't like Dean had that much pride (anymore). He might as well try begging. "C'mon," he said persuasively, "humor me."
Sam's face was shadowed, despite the lamp. Slowly, he got out of the car, stripping off his outer shirt and under shirt. Dean grunted as he levered himself out. Digging up the grave hadn't done his muscles any favors.
Dean whistled when he caught sight of Sam's back. "Doesn't hurt? Yeah, right, try again."
There was an impressive swath of road rash across Sam's back. The ghost had dragged him by one foot across the stony ground while Dean had finished off the bones.
"How do you want to do this?" Dean asked.
"I can just wash it off." Sam rounded the car to get to the trunk. He pulled out one of the gallons they kept in the back, uncapped it, and haphazardly sent it spilling over his shoulder while bent awkwardly.
"Dude, enough. Hand it over."
There was something Dean couldn't read in Sam's eyes. It bugged him. He took the jug from Sam slowly. He reached out to grasp Sam's shoulder, and Sam . . . Sam flinched. From him.
Dean swallowed, feeling off-kilter and nauseous. "Sam?"
"Startled me," Sam obviously lied. Dean chose to ignore it for the moment, pressing Sam down so he could get to his back.
"Some debris in here," he muttered after rinsing thoroughly. "We better stick to the flashlight after all."
Sam sounded resigned. "Fine."
They ended up wedged into the backseat of the Impala, Sam awkwardly twisted around so that his face was mashed against the door and Dean kneeling behind him, flashlight between his teeth. Dean put a hand on Sam's flank to calm him before he got started, only to have Sam flinch again. He pulled back, the nauseous feeling in his gut turning into a bitter taste at the back of his throat.
Sam didn't flinch as Dean used tweezers to remove bits of rock and bark.
"I think that's the last of it," Dean finally said. "C'mon, I gotta clean it out one more time."
Dean poured the water, patting Sam's back dry and applying some antibiotic cream to the deepest cuts. As he smoothed a bandage over the wounds, Dean stilled. He couldn't remember the last time taking care of Sam like he was now.
"That okay?" he asked gruffly.
"Yeah." Sam was trembling minutely under Dean's hand. He moved away, skittish and wary. "You can have the back seat."
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In the silence of the car, Dean heard Sam's hiss as he tried to lie down on his back. He shifted, cautiously, like he thought Dean wouldn't notice.
"Why did you flinch?"
Dean's voice was too loud, the space in the Impala too confined.
"W-what?"
"When I touched you. You flinched." Dean swallowed back the hurt that threatened to well up. "I get that a lot has happened, but if you don't trust me, then it's dangerous for us to hunt together. You know that."
"No, Dean! It's, it's not that. It's not you it's--"
"If you end that with 'it's me,' I'm officially labelling you a chick," Dean warned.
"Just forget about it, Dean."
(Like he didn't know Dean could never forget about things like this).
Dean sighed, pulling himself up and leaning over the seat to stare down at Sam. "I'm being serious. What's going on?"
Sam closed his eyes as if he was trying to avoid Dean. His voice was soft, shuddery. "I was surprised."
"You saw my hand coming towards you."
"I know that. But I didn't think . . . I didn't think you'd actually touch me."
Dean frowned. "Why not?"
"It's nothing."
"Tell me."
"No."
"Sam, c'mon, tell me."
"I said no, Dean."
"Saaa--"
Sam's eyes finally opened, his voice sharp and quick. "C'mon, Dean. You haven't been able to stand touching me since the demon blood."
Both of them froze. In the dim light, Dean saw Sam's adam's apple convulse as he swallowed.
Dean got out of the car. For a moment, he simply leaned against the Impala, feeling the weight of the apocalypse, of hell, of the entire world on his shoulders. Then he rolled his eyes at himself for being overdramatic and slid into the front seat of the Impala. Sam frantically scrambled to get upright, but Dean stilled him with a hand to his chest.
"It was never about that," Dean said. "I didn't realize."
Sam's eyes were still wary (broken). Dean shut the door, leaning against it so he could drag Sam up against himself. Sam felt stiff, unnatural.
"I'm sorry, Sammy," he said.
In increments, Sam relaxed. Dean kept his eyes closed, keeping his grip tight around Sam's waist. Sam had always been tactile, using physical touch as a comfort to know his loved ones were alive and well. Dean had forgotten.
"Say anything to anyone and I will cut your hair off," Dean remembered to warn him.
Sam reached an arm around, haphazardly gathering the various blankets and shoving them behind Dean to support his back. Then he turned over onto his stomach in Dean's embrace, smashing his face into Dean's neck. "Deal, jerk," he mumbled.
"Bitch," Dean said fondly.
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Thank you for sharing :)
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Anyway!
Sam's back! *pets it* I love that you messed up his back. And that you had him flinching, ugh. And then Dean being like, okay, so obviously we need to cuddle now, after he figured out the problem. <3 So lovely! Thank you thank you for the fill! I'm sorry again that I flaked on this, beautiful anon!
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