FILLED: He Takes What He Can Get (gen) 1/3i_speak_tongueOctober 9 2011, 14:33:37 UTC
(This ended up focusing more on the aftermath. Hope it still satisfies!)
If the Fourth of July fireworks were going off over his head, Bobby Singer could still sleep through it. That's why it's a blessed miracle he happens to be up taking a leak when he gets the call. Well, maybe not a miracle, but damn lucky. He can at least believe that's still available to him in this godless world. Even if only in bite size pieces.
It's Dean and off the bat, Bobby figures it's got to do with Sam, that maybe he's up in orbit again, and Dean's fliping out. And damned if Bobby knows what he can do about it from a motel room in Coeur D'Alene.
"What's up, kid, 'cause I sure ain't," Bobby asks, zipping up his fly.
"Son of a bitch, Bobby," Dean rasps, his voice squeakin' like an old swing like it was back at the hospital, messed up on painkillers. "They're back."
"Sam's hallucinations?"
"N-n-no. The Leviathans. I... they're bangin' on the doors and windows."
Bobby takes a deep breath. The boys got away from them once before... "What the hell you talkin' to me for? You and Sam need to split, pronto. I still ain't found jack on how to kill 'em."
"Sam's gone, Bobby." Christ, the kid is in pieces. Bobby rubs his hand over his beard and paces the motel room. "Bailed and left me a goddamn note. And my leg... I can't-" Dean's cut off then by a noise that's downright explosive. Glass shattering and wood splintering and... click.
"Dean!"
------
"Tell me he's okay. Are you with him?" At least Sam's listened to his damn messages.
"He's... He's beat up pretty bad, Sam. I think he'll be okay, but you should... Christ what the hell were you thinkin' leavin' him there?"
"I caught a case... I thought he'd be safe. I just..."
"Yeah, whatever. We can drama-camp it out later. How far are you from Spokane?"
"I can be there in two."
"Good. I've got a friend with a big ol' attic there, some of my books."
"Okay. Bobby?"
"What."
"I thought it was safe. I really did."
"I believe you, Sam."
---
It's a decent spot to play possum for a spell, with so many copies of Bobby's books on hand. The attic's got plenty of space, but most of it's filled with rare South American artifacts, stacks of photographs and diaries that Bobby's old friend has been keeping since the Kennedy administration. Diego's a professor Emeritus of Latin Folklore at Whitman College, an anthropologist who's seen his share of weird. And brought most of it home with him, apparently.
"I wrestled this off the old man," Bobby says, arms full with a thick Alpaca blanket, bright red and itchy as all get out.
Sam's about finished with the splint on Dean's leg-the cast was scattered in pieces back in Whitefish- and Dean's pale as day-old grits, still clinging to his left arm like it's going to run off on him, propped up on one measly pillow on a wrought-iron bed tucked into a drafty corner.
"Good job, son." Bobby pats Sam on the back as he peers down at his work, at Dean's bare leg, swaddled up tidily in a makeshift wooden frame that they've salvaged from a broken bookcase.
Sam nods and lets Bobby slip past him to unfurl his offering and pat it down around Dean's bruised-up ribs. It smells of cigars and mothballs.
"How you holdin' up, kiddo?" Dean blinks up at him like Bobby's got watermelons growing out of his ears.
FILLED: He Takes What He Can Get (gen) 1/2i_speak_tongueOctober 9 2011, 14:36:28 UTC
(LIES! It's only 2 parts)
Bobby nods as Sam hands him a piece of linen that he's folded with military precision into a triangle about two feet long. "Yup. And I'm sick of playing English Patient with you boys."
Sam slips his hand under Dean's elbow, another at the back of his shoulder, brushing Dean's good arm aside, and Dean stares out the smudged window beside him like like he's looking for something. Or someone. It's pitch black out.
"Got a protection spell somewhere up here," Bobby says, lacing the sling gently under Dean's arm. "Pretty sure it'll throw them off our scent."
He reaches around Dean's neck to tie it off, and Dean flinches when Sam pushes him forward a little and he holds back a gasp.
Sam looks at Bobby and frowns, shakes his head, and Bobby tries to speed things up. Dean's in more pain than he's letting on, as usual.
"Almost done..." Bobby says then nods to Sam and Sam lets Dean lean back again.
"How's that feel?" Bobby asks, adjusts the edge of the fabric so it's smooth against Dean's forearm. Sam scoops Dean's medication and a water bottle off the floor, works on opening both.
"Better," Dean says, staring down at Bobby's hands as they fuss over him.
"Good. Dislocated elbow's a new one for me," Bobby says.
"Yeah," Dean says, and throws back the pills Sam's handed him. "Me too."
Sam offers him water, and an apology. "I'm sorry, Dean."
"Okay," is all Dean says to that, blinking straight ahead into endless stacks of research, jaw tightening like a socket-wrench to hold back something much more pointed. He takes a slug from the water bottle and holds it back out.
Sam screws the cap back on, places it back on the floor and doesn't say a word. The drugs grant Dean sleep not long afterward, but Sam stays up and claws his way through every book Bobby tosses him, determined to find a way to protect them from the Leviathans. To protect Dean. And when they do, and it's 5 am and Bobby's drawing strange patterns on the floor and chanting over lava rocks, Sam takes up sentry at Dean's bedside.
Dean wakes up groggy and stiff with pain, too many hours passed since his last dosage.
"Scared me, Sammy," he mutters, mid-way through a wave of anguish, eyes squeezed shut to keep a handle on it.
"I know," Sam tells him, pressing a couple of pills into Dean's palm. "I'm here now, though. That's all I've got, man."
Dean breathes like he's about to dive off a lifeboat. He nods, and swallows his medicine.
Re: FILLED: He Takes What He Can Get (gen) 1/2catsintheatticOctober 9 2011, 17:14:08 UTC
Awww - that was lovely! (My first SPN prompt ever and you filled it so fast.) Thank you!
Dean all hurty and trying not to let it show, but Sam and Bobby saw right through him. I'm pretty glad that Dean didn't fight with Sam over Sam taking off like he did, but simply accepted the comfort and care. Though it says a lot about the state he must be in, the poor dear.
(This ended up focusing more on the aftermath. Hope it still satisfies!)
If the Fourth of July fireworks were going off over his head, Bobby Singer could still sleep through it. That's why it's a blessed miracle he happens to be up taking a leak when he gets the call. Well, maybe not a miracle, but damn lucky. He can at least believe that's still available to him in this godless world. Even if only in bite size pieces.
It's Dean and off the bat, Bobby figures it's got to do with Sam, that maybe he's up in orbit again, and Dean's fliping out. And damned if Bobby knows what he can do about it from a motel room in Coeur D'Alene.
"What's up, kid, 'cause I sure ain't," Bobby asks, zipping up his fly.
"Son of a bitch, Bobby," Dean rasps, his voice squeakin' like an old swing like it was back at the hospital, messed up on painkillers. "They're back."
"Sam's hallucinations?"
"N-n-no. The Leviathans. I... they're bangin' on the doors and windows."
Bobby takes a deep breath. The boys got away from them once before... "What the hell you talkin' to me for? You and Sam need to split, pronto. I still ain't found jack on how to kill 'em."
"Sam's gone, Bobby." Christ, the kid is in pieces. Bobby rubs his hand over his beard and paces the motel room. "Bailed and left me a goddamn note. And my leg... I can't-" Dean's cut off then by a noise that's downright explosive. Glass shattering and wood splintering and... click.
"Dean!"
------
"Tell me he's okay. Are you with him?" At least Sam's listened to his damn messages.
"He's... He's beat up pretty bad, Sam. I think he'll be okay, but you should... Christ what the hell were you thinkin' leavin' him there?"
"I caught a case... I thought he'd be safe. I just..."
"Yeah, whatever. We can drama-camp it out later. How far are you from Spokane?"
"I can be there in two."
"Good. I've got a friend with a big ol' attic there, some of my books."
"Okay. Bobby?"
"What."
"I thought it was safe. I really did."
"I believe you, Sam."
---
It's a decent spot to play possum for a spell, with so many copies of Bobby's books on hand. The attic's got plenty of space, but most of it's filled with rare South American artifacts, stacks of photographs and diaries that Bobby's old friend has been keeping since the Kennedy administration. Diego's a professor Emeritus of Latin Folklore at Whitman College, an anthropologist who's seen his share of weird. And brought most of it home with him, apparently.
"I wrestled this off the old man," Bobby says, arms full with a thick Alpaca blanket, bright red and itchy as all get out.
Sam's about finished with the splint on Dean's leg-the cast was scattered in pieces back in Whitefish- and Dean's pale as day-old grits, still clinging to his left arm like it's going to run off on him, propped up on one measly pillow on a wrought-iron bed tucked into a drafty corner.
"Good job, son." Bobby pats Sam on the back as he peers down at his work, at Dean's bare leg, swaddled up tidily in a makeshift wooden frame that they've salvaged from a broken bookcase.
Sam nods and lets Bobby slip past him to unfurl his offering and pat it down around Dean's bruised-up ribs. It smells of cigars and mothballs.
"How you holdin' up, kiddo?" Dean blinks up at him like Bobby's got watermelons growing out of his ears.
"Sick of bein' a hackey sack, Bobby," he mumbles.
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Bobby nods as Sam hands him a piece of linen that he's folded with military precision into a triangle about two feet long. "Yup. And I'm sick of playing English Patient with you boys."
Sam slips his hand under Dean's elbow, another at the back of his shoulder, brushing Dean's good arm aside, and Dean stares out the smudged window beside him like like he's looking for something. Or someone. It's pitch black out.
"Got a protection spell somewhere up here," Bobby says, lacing the sling gently under Dean's arm. "Pretty sure it'll throw them off our scent."
He reaches around Dean's neck to tie it off, and Dean flinches when Sam pushes him forward a little and he holds back a gasp.
Sam looks at Bobby and frowns, shakes his head, and Bobby tries to speed things up. Dean's in more pain than he's letting on, as usual.
"Almost done..." Bobby says then nods to Sam and Sam lets Dean lean back again.
"How's that feel?" Bobby asks, adjusts the edge of the fabric so it's smooth against Dean's forearm. Sam scoops Dean's medication and a water bottle off the floor, works on opening both.
"Better," Dean says, staring down at Bobby's hands as they fuss over him.
"Good. Dislocated elbow's a new one for me," Bobby says.
"Yeah," Dean says, and throws back the pills Sam's handed him. "Me too."
Sam offers him water, and an apology. "I'm sorry, Dean."
"Okay," is all Dean says to that, blinking straight ahead into endless stacks of research, jaw tightening like a socket-wrench to hold back something much more pointed. He takes a slug from the water bottle and holds it back out.
Sam screws the cap back on, places it back on the floor and doesn't say a word. The drugs grant Dean sleep not long afterward, but Sam stays up and claws his way through every book Bobby tosses him, determined to find a way to protect them from the Leviathans. To protect Dean. And when they do, and it's 5 am and Bobby's drawing strange patterns on the floor and chanting over lava rocks, Sam takes up sentry at Dean's bedside.
Dean wakes up groggy and stiff with pain, too many hours passed since his last dosage.
"Scared me, Sammy," he mutters, mid-way through a wave of anguish, eyes squeezed shut to keep a handle on it.
"I know," Sam tells him, pressing a couple of pills into Dean's palm. "I'm here now, though. That's all I've got, man."
Dean breathes like he's about to dive off a lifeboat. He nods, and swallows his medicine.
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So sad, and so good. LOVE IT.
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Dean all hurty and trying not to let it show, but Sam and Bobby saw right through him. I'm pretty glad that Dean didn't fight with Sam over Sam taking off like he did, but simply accepted the comfort and care. Though it says a lot about the state he must be in, the poor dear.
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Great fic, and that line really drove it home.
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