Idek how to title this. File it under amazing or something ♥
I BLAME THIS ON THE CONVERSATION I HAD WITH ace_of_spades6 EARLIER TONIGHT. UNLESS SHE WANTS NOTHING TO DO WITH THIS, WHICH I COMPLETELY UNDERSTAND ♥
untitled
gen
pg-13
un-beta'd
Spoilers for the Season 5 finale of Supernatural and for House of Wax.
Dean lets out a rough huff, his heart still pounding in his ears. In all the hillbilly-infested backwoods of the south, he manages to pick the forest containing the murderous ones with hostages. He makes his way up the outside of the house, gaining entry through a half-opened window. Dean keeps back when he hears footsteps and sees a figure pass by the partially-opened door.
Dean closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath and ground himself. There's no way that Sam just walked down the hallway, less than four feet from him. Sam's in Hell, got sucked into the ground in front of Dean's eyes, something that Dean will never unsee. But the guy that just walked by Dean's hiding spot had paused at a weird noise, turned his head just right and Dean knows that gesture, that scar along the edge of his jaw, and he knows it's Sam. Even if it looks like Sam's sporting an anorexic caterpillar on his upper lip. Dean blames it on the low light.
The guy - Sam - keeps walking, and Dean's almost caught off-guard when another figure silently passes by. Dean waits for a moment, but even that's too long, and almost immediately he can hear the noise of a scuffle, a few low grunts and then silence. It's finally broken by harsh whistling gasp, a noise that knots Dean's stomach.
He takes advantage when the creeper in the mask turns his back and leaves the room, exiting down the hall, and Dean sneaks in, quickly checking Sam's pulse. It's faint, the blood soaking the douchey striped shirt Sam's wearing. Dean's not sure how he manages to drag Sam down and out the back without attracting any attention, but he does, and quickly makes his way to the car. Even now that they're in the Impala, he's not pressing their luck and moves quickly to get them out of there.
They're parked on a back road, thankfully pointing down hill so all Dean has to do is push off and then they're rolling. Sam's slumped down in the passenger seat, softly groaning. He's probably be better off in the back, but from what Dean can see of the stab wounds, he prefers Sam to stay closer, where he can keep an eye on him.
Dean hadn't expected to find Sam here. Or on earth at all, really. But he's not questioning it; hadn't when he first saw Sam sprawled out and bloody on the floor, and he's not going to start now.
They're far enough away now that Dean feels comfortable starting the engine and getting them the hell out of Bumfuck, Nowhere. He had gotten word of another one of those families, the fucked up ones who torture and maim and kill, and he had thought he would check it out and clean up the planet a little, now that the demon numbers were lower. He just hadn't planned on Sam having shown up before him.
There's a groan next to him, and Dean takes his eyes off the dirt road long enough to glance over at Sam. He's pale, and Dean can hear the shallow gasps echoing in the car. At least the bloodstain on his shirt's stopped spreading.
"Hey. You doing okay over there?" Dean doesn't want to focus on Hell, on Lucifer or any of that. Not yet at least. Right now he just wants reassurance that Sam's okay, and that Dean's not going to lose him again in the next ten minutes.
"What the hell happened back there?" The words are low and mumbled, and the next time Dean looks over at him, Sam's staring up at him, wide-eyed and trying to shift into the corner.
"Dude, stop moving. You've lost enough blood as it is." Dean's not quite ready to stop yet, even though he knows Sam needs bandaging. Maybe when they reach an actual paved road he'll feel safe enough to do so. He reaches out to touch Sam's shoulder, something to reassure himself that Sam's solid and here, but Sam flinches and draws back more. Dean's hand hangs in the air for a moment, til he feels like he can breath again and he grips the steering wheel, ready to rediscover civilization.
---
It's another hour of driving before they reach an empty parking lot that Dean's comfortable stopping in. Sam's asleep, and Dean grabs the keys before getting out and walking around to the trunk. He grabs the first aid kit and the bottle of Jack cushioned in the pile of blankets, and tries not to slam the trunk too hard.
Dean sets them on the roof of the car, then pauses to look at Sam through the window. The jerk does have a mustache, and not even one to be proud of, like Bobby's. Dean wonders if it's part of Lucifer's fashion sense, like those fucking white patent leather shoes were.
He knocks softly on the window before opening the door, making sure Sam doesn't tip out on to the asphalt. Sam just blinks at him, and Dean takes that as enough of an okay to take the medical scissors and cut up the middle of his shirt. Dean's careful by the wound, the edges of the fabric pressed into the gashes left by the blades, and he tries not to tug on them.
Sam doesn't move until he sees the scissors heading towards his face and he flinches again, eyes screwed tightly shut. Dean hushes him, tries to reassure him as he finishes cutting and hides the scissors away. Dean's never seen Sam like this, not for years, and he wonders what exactly happened to him in Hell or in the backwoods of Louisiana to cause him to react like this.
"Fuck, Sammy, what happened? What were you even doing there?" Dean keeps his voice low, trying to keep Sam from starting any more. He rummages through the kit, looking for antiseptic spray and a roll of gauze. Dean knows a trip to the ER is in the immediate future, but he needs to fix Sam up as best he can now; look over him and make sure he's okay and breathing and here.
Sam shoots him a weird look, brows furrowing. "Sammy? Wait, what?"
Dean huffs out a chuckle. "I thought I'd save 'bitch' for when you're feeling better." He offers the bottle of Jack up to Sam. "You might want to take a hit before I start."
Sam just stares at him a moment longer before pulling away, the edges of the shirt still plastered to his chest. "I don't know who you're talking about, but that's not me. My name's Wade."
untitled
gen
pg-13
un-beta'd
Spoilers for the Season 5 finale of Supernatural and for House of Wax.
Dean lets out a rough huff, his heart still pounding in his ears. In all the hillbilly-infested backwoods of the south, he manages to pick the forest containing the murderous ones with hostages. He makes his way up the outside of the house, gaining entry through a half-opened window. Dean keeps back when he hears footsteps and sees a figure pass by the partially-opened door.
Dean closes his eyes, trying to catch his breath and ground himself. There's no way that Sam just walked down the hallway, less than four feet from him. Sam's in Hell, got sucked into the ground in front of Dean's eyes, something that Dean will never unsee. But the guy that just walked by Dean's hiding spot had paused at a weird noise, turned his head just right and Dean knows that gesture, that scar along the edge of his jaw, and he knows it's Sam. Even if it looks like Sam's sporting an anorexic caterpillar on his upper lip. Dean blames it on the low light.
The guy - Sam - keeps walking, and Dean's almost caught off-guard when another figure silently passes by. Dean waits for a moment, but even that's too long, and almost immediately he can hear the noise of a scuffle, a few low grunts and then silence. It's finally broken by harsh whistling gasp, a noise that knots Dean's stomach.
He takes advantage when the creeper in the mask turns his back and leaves the room, exiting down the hall, and Dean sneaks in, quickly checking Sam's pulse. It's faint, the blood soaking the douchey striped shirt Sam's wearing. Dean's not sure how he manages to drag Sam down and out the back without attracting any attention, but he does, and quickly makes his way to the car. Even now that they're in the Impala, he's not pressing their luck and moves quickly to get them out of there.
They're parked on a back road, thankfully pointing down hill so all Dean has to do is push off and then they're rolling. Sam's slumped down in the passenger seat, softly groaning. He's probably be better off in the back, but from what Dean can see of the stab wounds, he prefers Sam to stay closer, where he can keep an eye on him.
Dean hadn't expected to find Sam here. Or on earth at all, really. But he's not questioning it; hadn't when he first saw Sam sprawled out and bloody on the floor, and he's not going to start now.
They're far enough away now that Dean feels comfortable starting the engine and getting them the hell out of Bumfuck, Nowhere. He had gotten word of another one of those families, the fucked up ones who torture and maim and kill, and he had thought he would check it out and clean up the planet a little, now that the demon numbers were lower. He just hadn't planned on Sam having shown up before him.
There's a groan next to him, and Dean takes his eyes off the dirt road long enough to glance over at Sam. He's pale, and Dean can hear the shallow gasps echoing in the car. At least the bloodstain on his shirt's stopped spreading.
"Hey. You doing okay over there?" Dean doesn't want to focus on Hell, on Lucifer or any of that. Not yet at least. Right now he just wants reassurance that Sam's okay, and that Dean's not going to lose him again in the next ten minutes.
"What the hell happened back there?" The words are low and mumbled, and the next time Dean looks over at him, Sam's staring up at him, wide-eyed and trying to shift into the corner.
"Dude, stop moving. You've lost enough blood as it is." Dean's not quite ready to stop yet, even though he knows Sam needs bandaging. Maybe when they reach an actual paved road he'll feel safe enough to do so. He reaches out to touch Sam's shoulder, something to reassure himself that Sam's solid and here, but Sam flinches and draws back more. Dean's hand hangs in the air for a moment, til he feels like he can breath again and he grips the steering wheel, ready to rediscover civilization.
---
It's another hour of driving before they reach an empty parking lot that Dean's comfortable stopping in. Sam's asleep, and Dean grabs the keys before getting out and walking around to the trunk. He grabs the first aid kit and the bottle of Jack cushioned in the pile of blankets, and tries not to slam the trunk too hard.
Dean sets them on the roof of the car, then pauses to look at Sam through the window. The jerk does have a mustache, and not even one to be proud of, like Bobby's. Dean wonders if it's part of Lucifer's fashion sense, like those fucking white patent leather shoes were.
He knocks softly on the window before opening the door, making sure Sam doesn't tip out on to the asphalt. Sam just blinks at him, and Dean takes that as enough of an okay to take the medical scissors and cut up the middle of his shirt. Dean's careful by the wound, the edges of the fabric pressed into the gashes left by the blades, and he tries not to tug on them.
Sam doesn't move until he sees the scissors heading towards his face and he flinches again, eyes screwed tightly shut. Dean hushes him, tries to reassure him as he finishes cutting and hides the scissors away. Dean's never seen Sam like this, not for years, and he wonders what exactly happened to him in Hell or in the backwoods of Louisiana to cause him to react like this.
"Fuck, Sammy, what happened? What were you even doing there?" Dean keeps his voice low, trying to keep Sam from starting any more. He rummages through the kit, looking for antiseptic spray and a roll of gauze. Dean knows a trip to the ER is in the immediate future, but he needs to fix Sam up as best he can now; look over him and make sure he's okay and breathing and here.
Sam shoots him a weird look, brows furrowing. "Sammy? Wait, what?"
Dean huffs out a chuckle. "I thought I'd save 'bitch' for when you're feeling better." He offers the bottle of Jack up to Sam. "You might want to take a hit before I start."
Sam just stares at him a moment longer before pulling away, the edges of the shirt still plastered to his chest. "I don't know who you're talking about, but that's not me. My name's Wade."