Brained
title: Brained
part: 1 of ?
rated: PG/K+
spoilers: none
warnings: this fic has crack-y origins
summary: A hunt at a haunted library leaves Sam wondering just what happened to his brother.
“Dean!” Sam ran towards his fallen brother. With the librarian's ghost taken care of, he could freely dig his older brother out from under the rubble that was once the reference section of Deer's Creek local library. He struggled with the large, hard-bound publications using only one hand, as his right arm was aching and bleeding after having lost the battle with a few of the Deer's Creek stag statues scattered around the local history section.
“Dean, man,” Sam said more to himself than to his brother, “come on. Talk to me. I know you're under here... somewhere...” Sam had seen his brother thrown into the teak shelving that housed the many volumes of Encyclopedia Britannicas and Americanas. He had already pulled a dozen or more Roget's Thesauruses, along with various almanacs, atlases, and telephone books from the debris. While he, himself, had outgrown his 'big' brother somewhere near a decade ago, he knew that Dean could in no way be characterized as small. The fact was, Dean was a six foot tall, muscular, thirty-year-old man. He should not be so easy to lose amid a bunch of texts and plywood.
Well on his way towards panicking, Sam almost cried out in relief when he heard a soft groan from within a tomb of Merriam-Websters, Random Houses, American Heritages, and Oxford English dictionaries.
“Dean!” he began pulling off the last of the heavy tomes with new vigor. “Dean, dude, you're almost free, man. I'm getting you out of there. How ya feeling?”
Another groan, a little stronger than the last, and some movement accompanied the final book removal. Sam got his first look at his brother and gulped a bit. Who knew a few books could do such damage? Along with the rips in his clothes and scratches on his skin, some of which were already bruising in an awesome array of blues and purples, there were deep paper cuts on Dean's hands, forearms, neck, and face. On his left temple - actually spanning from the above his left eye to just behind his left ear - there was a long, sluggishly bleeding gash. And, from behind his right ear, down to his neck at his hairline, there was another wound matted with blood and paper. In fact, all of the blood Sam could see seemed to be tinted with ink from the unforgiving reference books.
“Dean?” Sam questioned. The blanket of books were now gone, but he wasn't sure if he should move his brother. He didn't know the extent of his injuries. But, really, they needed to get out of there. Sam could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance - but in this small town they wouldn't be distant for long.
“Dean? Can you move at all? I need you to talk to me, man. Need you to open your eyes.”
Dean did as he was told and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a number of times, at varying speeds and strengths, trying to clear his vision and his mind and remember what had happened, where he was, and was Sammy safe. And like always, Sam could see the instant the facts came back to him.
“Don't worry, man. She's gone. I took care of it,” Sam told him. Seeing the proud, yet self-loathing look on his brother's face, Sam added, “couldn't have finished it without you keeping her attention.”
Dean gave him a crooked smile. The one that told Sam that he was still disappointed in himself - especially having seen the state of Sam's right arm - but that he was grateful to his little brother for trying to give him some credit.
The sirens were getting louder.
“You OK to move?” Sam asked him, holding out his left hand to help his brother out of the pile of gazetteers. “Should you move? Can you walk?”
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a raspy wheezing sort of noise. He grabbed Sam's hand instead of trying to speak again and Sam noticed for the first time that Dean's throat seemed to have a large lump. A book must have hit him in the throat and it had swollen. Sam was just thankful he didn't seem to have too much trouble breathing.
Dean took a step away from the destroyed shelving and nearly fell flat on his face when his legs gave out beneath him. Sam's speedy, one-armed grab was the only thing that kept him from taking another fall. Dean gave his brother a quick smile of thanks and a pat on the uninjured shoulder, then carefully walked out the back door - Sam trailing him with his arm at the ready should he need to make another quick catch - just as the front door of the library began the lengthy process of being broken into by the proper authorities.
* * *
The ride back to the motel was pretty uneventful. Though, Sam had been surprised that he didn't have to wrestle the car keys from his brother. In fact, Dean handed them over before Sam even had the chance to ask for them. His older brother also gave no indication of annoyance when Sam failed to use his turn signals. Of course, Sam was driving one-handed and anything other than simple turns of the wheel would have meant that he either had to take that one hand off of the steering wheel completely or use his bloody hand. Perhaps Dean just felt that the lack of turn signals in the dead of night with no other traffic on the roads was the lesser evil.
* * *
Once back in their motel room, Dean of course played the big brother and would not allow Sam to do anything until he had examined, cleaned, and mended Sam's arm. Only then did Dean get into the shower to rinse off the ink and dust from his skin and out of his wounds. The paper cuts and scratches were left to heal on their own but he allowed Sam to put some Steri-strips and liquid bandages on the head wounds, and Sam considered that a win.
After performing any and all tests Dad had taught them, Sam decided that Dean did not have a concussion and the two finally went to sleep.
part: 1 of ?
rated: PG/K+
spoilers: none
warnings: this fic has crack-y origins
summary: A hunt at a haunted library leaves Sam wondering just what happened to his brother.
“Dean!” Sam ran towards his fallen brother. With the librarian's ghost taken care of, he could freely dig his older brother out from under the rubble that was once the reference section of Deer's Creek local library. He struggled with the large, hard-bound publications using only one hand, as his right arm was aching and bleeding after having lost the battle with a few of the Deer's Creek stag statues scattered around the local history section.
“Dean, man,” Sam said more to himself than to his brother, “come on. Talk to me. I know you're under here... somewhere...” Sam had seen his brother thrown into the teak shelving that housed the many volumes of Encyclopedia Britannicas and Americanas. He had already pulled a dozen or more Roget's Thesauruses, along with various almanacs, atlases, and telephone books from the debris. While he, himself, had outgrown his 'big' brother somewhere near a decade ago, he knew that Dean could in no way be characterized as small. The fact was, Dean was a six foot tall, muscular, thirty-year-old man. He should not be so easy to lose amid a bunch of texts and plywood.
Well on his way towards panicking, Sam almost cried out in relief when he heard a soft groan from within a tomb of Merriam-Websters, Random Houses, American Heritages, and Oxford English dictionaries.
“Dean!” he began pulling off the last of the heavy tomes with new vigor. “Dean, dude, you're almost free, man. I'm getting you out of there. How ya feeling?”
Another groan, a little stronger than the last, and some movement accompanied the final book removal. Sam got his first look at his brother and gulped a bit. Who knew a few books could do such damage? Along with the rips in his clothes and scratches on his skin, some of which were already bruising in an awesome array of blues and purples, there were deep paper cuts on Dean's hands, forearms, neck, and face. On his left temple - actually spanning from the above his left eye to just behind his left ear - there was a long, sluggishly bleeding gash. And, from behind his right ear, down to his neck at his hairline, there was another wound matted with blood and paper. In fact, all of the blood Sam could see seemed to be tinted with ink from the unforgiving reference books.
“Dean?” Sam questioned. The blanket of books were now gone, but he wasn't sure if he should move his brother. He didn't know the extent of his injuries. But, really, they needed to get out of there. Sam could hear the faint sound of sirens in the distance - but in this small town they wouldn't be distant for long.
“Dean? Can you move at all? I need you to talk to me, man. Need you to open your eyes.”
Dean did as he was told and slowly opened his eyes. He blinked a number of times, at varying speeds and strengths, trying to clear his vision and his mind and remember what had happened, where he was, and was Sammy safe. And like always, Sam could see the instant the facts came back to him.
“Don't worry, man. She's gone. I took care of it,” Sam told him. Seeing the proud, yet self-loathing look on his brother's face, Sam added, “couldn't have finished it without you keeping her attention.”
Dean gave him a crooked smile. The one that told Sam that he was still disappointed in himself - especially having seen the state of Sam's right arm - but that he was grateful to his little brother for trying to give him some credit.
The sirens were getting louder.
“You OK to move?” Sam asked him, holding out his left hand to help his brother out of the pile of gazetteers. “Should you move? Can you walk?”
Dean opened his mouth to reply, but all that came out was a raspy wheezing sort of noise. He grabbed Sam's hand instead of trying to speak again and Sam noticed for the first time that Dean's throat seemed to have a large lump. A book must have hit him in the throat and it had swollen. Sam was just thankful he didn't seem to have too much trouble breathing.
Dean took a step away from the destroyed shelving and nearly fell flat on his face when his legs gave out beneath him. Sam's speedy, one-armed grab was the only thing that kept him from taking another fall. Dean gave his brother a quick smile of thanks and a pat on the uninjured shoulder, then carefully walked out the back door - Sam trailing him with his arm at the ready should he need to make another quick catch - just as the front door of the library began the lengthy process of being broken into by the proper authorities.
* * *
The ride back to the motel was pretty uneventful. Though, Sam had been surprised that he didn't have to wrestle the car keys from his brother. In fact, Dean handed them over before Sam even had the chance to ask for them. His older brother also gave no indication of annoyance when Sam failed to use his turn signals. Of course, Sam was driving one-handed and anything other than simple turns of the wheel would have meant that he either had to take that one hand off of the steering wheel completely or use his bloody hand. Perhaps Dean just felt that the lack of turn signals in the dead of night with no other traffic on the roads was the lesser evil.
* * *
Once back in their motel room, Dean of course played the big brother and would not allow Sam to do anything until he had examined, cleaned, and mended Sam's arm. Only then did Dean get into the shower to rinse off the ink and dust from his skin and out of his wounds. The paper cuts and scratches were left to heal on their own but he allowed Sam to put some Steri-strips and liquid bandages on the head wounds, and Sam considered that a win.
After performing any and all tests Dad had taught them, Sam decided that Dean did not have a concussion and the two finally went to sleep.