SPN Fic: Finding Elrond 5/5 + Epilogue
Title: Finding Elrond
Author: shallowz
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Mature readers
Characters: Dean, Sam
Warnings/spoilers: Faith, Houses of the Holy, Born Under a Bad Sign (possibly others)
Word count: around 1,940
Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and premises of many talented people. Essentially, not ours, no profit being made, etc. This is just for fun.
Summary: Sam has a leg wound that won’t heal, and Dean’s inspired by one of his usual resources for finding a cure.
Authors' Note: Happy Birthday, harrigan! This is for you.:) Many thanks to erinruafor betaing this fic!
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four
Part Five
Sam knew if he slept now he wouldn’t wake up. Felt himself wanting to give into that sweet, seductive darkness. No pain, no worries kind of darkness.
And that made him resist sleep all the more.
Knew too well that dead didn’t always mean rest.
“Sam, you need to drink this,” Walsh said. Dean held the glass to Sam’s mouth and he choked down the sweetened beverage.
Things were moving quick now or appeared to be in Sam’s fractured view. He had a vague awareness of the pillows being removed and heating pads placed beneath him. The pain of having his legs elevated cleared his mind.
Shock. They were afraid he would go into shock and were taking precautions.
Walsh was cutting off the bandage, and Sam gagged again at the fetid wound.
“Christ,” Walsh voiced in unison with Dean’s, “sonofabitch.”
In this moment of clarity, Sam met his brother’s pensive look as Dean accepted the salt from Walsh.
Dean’s hands were shaking.
Okay, that was just wrong. Under all that determination, his brother was afraid, and Sam couldn’t have that. He wanted this to stop, and he wanted to use this one clear instant to say what he needed to…
-------
A sound of a vehicle roaring up the drive diverted their attention. Elliot let out a string of curses.
Dean frowned. “Is that them?”
“Sounds like it. So much for that restraining order.” Elliot turned to leave, but Dean blew past him with a-
“Gun?” Shocked, he looked to Sam. “Did he have a gun?”
How do you miss a man carrying a gun in your house?
Sam made a helpless, floppy gesture with his hand. “I can’t get ‘im to stop. It’s like his security blanket.”
“He has a GUN.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll take care of ’em.”
“That’s my worry!”
-------
“He won’t kill ‘em. It’ll help him relax.” Sam felt his focus going, but would have loved to watch Dean deal with Landrys. They were just what Dean needed to vent some of his pent up worry and anger. Besides, Walsh was a decent guy. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment.
Dean would take care of it.
And enjoy it.
-------
Seeing that Sam had drifted off, Elliot had a moment of indecision before pivoting away from the bed to follow the guy who brought a gun into his home.
A gun.
Jogging down the hall, he saw the headlights flashing through the windows, and the engine grew louder as Dean opened the front door.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
-------
Standing in the open doorway, Dean took a moment to assess the situation. From what he could see, it was the Junior Landrys who had come for a visit in a four-wheel drive pickup to chew up more of Walsh’s yard.
They were nice looking kids if it wasn’t for the scowling, angry expressions they aimed at the house as they waited for Walsh to make an appearance.
Sorry, boys, not tonight.
-------
Sam’s eyes opened and he spotted the salt. Himalayan salt? What happened to Morton’s?
-------
Elliot opened his mouth intending to prevent whatever action Dean was about take, but Dean swept the gun up in a move so practiced and a part of him that Elliot froze.
Three shots, loud and violent, and Elliot flinched with each one.
Elliot heard the pings as bullets struck metal, and the Landrys disbelieving shouts - and it was them. He recognized the vehicle as it spun out of his yard and down the road.
Gun dropping down by his side, Dean watched them leave.
“Assholes." He shut the door, and tucked the gun away eyes on Elliot. “Hey, they won’t be back tonight.”
Flabbergasted, Elliot could only stare at his guest. This was the most relaxed he had seen Dean since they met.
-------
Sam’s hand scrabbled across the bedding to grab up the salt. Okay, so Himalayan salt. Maybe frou-frou salt works better.
-------
“You brought a gun into my house." Elliot couldn't wrap his mind around it.
“And wasn’t it good that I did." Dean shrugged. “Restraining orders are only good if the restrained party follows it. I’m not about to risk our lives to some out of control, grief-stricken Clampetts out to get you.”
Elliot couldn’t argue. He remembered the fear of having three men attack his home and wondered if he would die that night. He would address the utter relief… and glee of seeing the Landrys run off later.
His life had become a B-western.
-------
With determination his brother was all too familiar with, Sam pulled himself up into a sitting position. He thought he was going to be defeated by his inability to remove the salt cap, only to have it come loose and spill salt all over the bed.
Flat out annoyed, Sam scooped it up and held it over the wound.
-------
Dean was well aware that Walsh wasn’t thrilled with him at the moment and didn’t care. Sam had to come first.
Sam.
Dean sprinted for the bedroom. The polished wood floors caused him to slide into the door, but that didn’t distract him from seeing his brother shaking the salt over his leg.
-------
Alarmed, Elliot followed close behind Dean and heard his annoyed shout. “This isn’t popcorn, Sam!”
Elliot stumbled into the room in time to see Sam look at them bleary-eyed, while continuing to dump salt into the open wound.
“Nothin’s happening.” There was a petulant note to Sam’s voice. “Maybe Himalayan salt is crap.”
Elliot felt unreasonable laughter building up.
-------
Sam felt nothing. He saw the salt falling into the wound. The white salt contrasting with the blackness of the injury, and felt nothing. Nada.
Sam’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. Dean blinked after a long moment, and they both looked down at Sam’s leg.
“I expected...” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed
“More.” Sam said.
“Yeah.”
Walsh reached for the salt container. “It should at least sting.”
Sam felt himself drifting again. “No sting." He started to feel a strange tingle. “Well, maybe…”
Wow.
Hurt.
A lot.
Sam’s world splintered.
-------
Sam didn’t scream. His mouth was open, his eyes wide, but he didn’t scream. Dean wondered how much it had to hurt if you couldn’t even let out a shout. Salt poured into a cut like that, he expected some yelling. A groan.
Something.
Took Dean far too long to realize the absolute silence was Sam not breathing, and that tumbled things down into stuff that was far worse than even Sam’s look. He could have sworn he hadn’t even gone near the thought ‘how much worse could it get’ when Sam went rigid right after his hand clamped around Dean’s wrist.
Dark, oily wisps of vapor began to waft up from the wound.
-------
Walsh had never seen anything like the smokish looking stuff coming from the injury. He sensed the malevolence of it. His gaze was torn away when Sam arched off the bed. Dean shouted his brother’s name and caught Sam by his free hand. Walsh reached across to pull Sam back and yelped at the unexpected cold that shot up his arm.
Oh, sweet mother of god, what was this?
He did snatch his hand away when Dean wrestled Sam’s unyielding body back onto the bed, his right wrist still firmly caught within Sam’s grip.
That had to hurt.
Their pain paled in comparison to what Sam was feeling if it knocked the breath right out of him. First things first, get the man breathing. Figure out the rest later.
Walsh heard the soft mantra of ‘nononono’ from Dean, and doubted he was even aware he was saying it.
Breathe, Sam. This would work better if you did.
Dean was as silent as his brother when Elliot reached over. He checked Sam’s pulse and a wave of heat swept over him, leaving him stunned.
What now?
Sam sucked in a huge shuddering breath, Dean followed suit, and Elliot went to work.
Whatever supernatural entity remained in Sam was fighting to stay. Elliot struggled a bit against the unknown qualities of it, until he realized that fighting against a bad thing was the same as fighting against any other bad thing. It helped that Sam was working to expel the intruder.
It was parasitic in nature, which made it harder to separate it from Sam. Elliot shook from the sheer amount of exertion it was taking to stay with his client, and to not give into the primal human instinct of recoiling from the utter wrongness of this thing.
-------
Walsh had one of his hands on Sam’s shoulder and the other hovering over the wound. The healer’s hands were shaking, and even in concentration, he looked repulsed.
Feeling the ugliness of whatever this was, Dean couldn’t blame him.
He reached out with his free hand to hold Walsh steady. Gunk wafting out of the wound could only be a good thing, and he wanted to make sure that Walsh and the salt got rid of it all.
Turning his head, Dean used his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and felt Sam loosening his vise-like grip on his wrist.
Walsh must have cranked up the heat.
-------
Elliot felt Dean grip his shoulder and the steadying pressure grounded him, allowed him to dig further down .
Underneath Elliot’s hand, he felt Sam relax, and his breathing even out. Only then did Elliot permit the physical world to snap back into focus. He saw Dean peeling Sam’s hand from his wrist, and giving it a light squeeze before resting it on Sam’s stomach.
Sam was unconscious, but Elliot was pleased to find his pulse stronger, his color improved, his respirations even, and the general contentment of a healing, natural sleep. He was less surprised than he thought he would be to see the salt gone from the now more normal looking wound.
“So, did he come back to the light?”
Elliot grinned. “That he did.”
“Nice work there, Elrond.”
Elliot shook his head at the name.
Dean studied Sam for a moment. “That was different.”
“More than a little.”
“Huh?” Dean bemused and weary.
Recognizing that Dean would need some time to himself, Elliot jutted his chin toward the doorway. “Go get some sleep. Take my bed, I’ll stay with Sam for a while.”
And was surprised and touched when Dean agreed.
-------
Sam woke up feeling warm, very comfortable, and with an ache in his leg that was a far cry from the agony of before. This was normal.
And maybe it was a hallucination.
Outside the bedroom window, he spotted Dean planting flowers. He could swear they were flowers, but that was Dean.
Couldn’t be. He must still be running a fever. Didn’t feel like it. He really did feel better.
But Dean was planting flowers.
Sam fell back asleep.
Go to Epilogue
Author: shallowz
Fandom: Supernatural
Rating: Mature readers
Characters: Dean, Sam
Warnings/spoilers: Faith, Houses of the Holy, Born Under a Bad Sign (possibly others)
Word count: around 1,940
Disclaimer: This story is based on the characters and premises of many talented people. Essentially, not ours, no profit being made, etc. This is just for fun.
Summary: Sam has a leg wound that won’t heal, and Dean’s inspired by one of his usual resources for finding a cure.
Authors' Note: Happy Birthday, harrigan! This is for you.:) Many thanks to erinruafor betaing this fic!
Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four
Part Five
Sam knew if he slept now he wouldn’t wake up. Felt himself wanting to give into that sweet, seductive darkness. No pain, no worries kind of darkness.
And that made him resist sleep all the more.
Knew too well that dead didn’t always mean rest.
“Sam, you need to drink this,” Walsh said. Dean held the glass to Sam’s mouth and he choked down the sweetened beverage.
Things were moving quick now or appeared to be in Sam’s fractured view. He had a vague awareness of the pillows being removed and heating pads placed beneath him. The pain of having his legs elevated cleared his mind.
Shock. They were afraid he would go into shock and were taking precautions.
Walsh was cutting off the bandage, and Sam gagged again at the fetid wound.
“Christ,” Walsh voiced in unison with Dean’s, “sonofabitch.”
In this moment of clarity, Sam met his brother’s pensive look as Dean accepted the salt from Walsh.
Dean’s hands were shaking.
Okay, that was just wrong. Under all that determination, his brother was afraid, and Sam couldn’t have that. He wanted this to stop, and he wanted to use this one clear instant to say what he needed to…
-------
A sound of a vehicle roaring up the drive diverted their attention. Elliot let out a string of curses.
Dean frowned. “Is that them?”
“Sounds like it. So much for that restraining order.” Elliot turned to leave, but Dean blew past him with a-
“Gun?” Shocked, he looked to Sam. “Did he have a gun?”
How do you miss a man carrying a gun in your house?
Sam made a helpless, floppy gesture with his hand. “I can’t get ‘im to stop. It’s like his security blanket.”
“He has a GUN.”
“Don’t worry. He’ll take care of ’em.”
“That’s my worry!”
-------
“He won’t kill ‘em. It’ll help him relax.” Sam felt his focus going, but would have loved to watch Dean deal with Landrys. They were just what Dean needed to vent some of his pent up worry and anger. Besides, Walsh was a decent guy. He didn’t deserve this kind of treatment.
Dean would take care of it.
And enjoy it.
-------
Seeing that Sam had drifted off, Elliot had a moment of indecision before pivoting away from the bed to follow the guy who brought a gun into his home.
A gun.
Jogging down the hall, he saw the headlights flashing through the windows, and the engine grew louder as Dean opened the front door.
Oh, sweet Jesus.
-------
Standing in the open doorway, Dean took a moment to assess the situation. From what he could see, it was the Junior Landrys who had come for a visit in a four-wheel drive pickup to chew up more of Walsh’s yard.
They were nice looking kids if it wasn’t for the scowling, angry expressions they aimed at the house as they waited for Walsh to make an appearance.
Sorry, boys, not tonight.
-------
Sam’s eyes opened and he spotted the salt. Himalayan salt? What happened to Morton’s?
-------
Elliot opened his mouth intending to prevent whatever action Dean was about take, but Dean swept the gun up in a move so practiced and a part of him that Elliot froze.
Three shots, loud and violent, and Elliot flinched with each one.
Elliot heard the pings as bullets struck metal, and the Landrys disbelieving shouts - and it was them. He recognized the vehicle as it spun out of his yard and down the road.
Gun dropping down by his side, Dean watched them leave.
“Assholes." He shut the door, and tucked the gun away eyes on Elliot. “Hey, they won’t be back tonight.”
Flabbergasted, Elliot could only stare at his guest. This was the most relaxed he had seen Dean since they met.
-------
Sam’s hand scrabbled across the bedding to grab up the salt. Okay, so Himalayan salt. Maybe frou-frou salt works better.
-------
“You brought a gun into my house." Elliot couldn't wrap his mind around it.
“And wasn’t it good that I did." Dean shrugged. “Restraining orders are only good if the restrained party follows it. I’m not about to risk our lives to some out of control, grief-stricken Clampetts out to get you.”
Elliot couldn’t argue. He remembered the fear of having three men attack his home and wondered if he would die that night. He would address the utter relief… and glee of seeing the Landrys run off later.
His life had become a B-western.
-------
With determination his brother was all too familiar with, Sam pulled himself up into a sitting position. He thought he was going to be defeated by his inability to remove the salt cap, only to have it come loose and spill salt all over the bed.
Flat out annoyed, Sam scooped it up and held it over the wound.
-------
Dean was well aware that Walsh wasn’t thrilled with him at the moment and didn’t care. Sam had to come first.
Sam.
Dean sprinted for the bedroom. The polished wood floors caused him to slide into the door, but that didn’t distract him from seeing his brother shaking the salt over his leg.
-------
Alarmed, Elliot followed close behind Dean and heard his annoyed shout. “This isn’t popcorn, Sam!”
Elliot stumbled into the room in time to see Sam look at them bleary-eyed, while continuing to dump salt into the open wound.
“Nothin’s happening.” There was a petulant note to Sam’s voice. “Maybe Himalayan salt is crap.”
Elliot felt unreasonable laughter building up.
-------
Sam felt nothing. He saw the salt falling into the wound. The white salt contrasting with the blackness of the injury, and felt nothing. Nada.
Sam’s forehead wrinkled in confusion. Dean blinked after a long moment, and they both looked down at Sam’s leg.
“I expected...” Dean sat down on the edge of the bed
“More.” Sam said.
“Yeah.”
Walsh reached for the salt container. “It should at least sting.”
Sam felt himself drifting again. “No sting." He started to feel a strange tingle. “Well, maybe…”
Wow.
Hurt.
A lot.
Sam’s world splintered.
-------
Sam didn’t scream. His mouth was open, his eyes wide, but he didn’t scream. Dean wondered how much it had to hurt if you couldn’t even let out a shout. Salt poured into a cut like that, he expected some yelling. A groan.
Something.
Took Dean far too long to realize the absolute silence was Sam not breathing, and that tumbled things down into stuff that was far worse than even Sam’s look. He could have sworn he hadn’t even gone near the thought ‘how much worse could it get’ when Sam went rigid right after his hand clamped around Dean’s wrist.
Dark, oily wisps of vapor began to waft up from the wound.
-------
Walsh had never seen anything like the smokish looking stuff coming from the injury. He sensed the malevolence of it. His gaze was torn away when Sam arched off the bed. Dean shouted his brother’s name and caught Sam by his free hand. Walsh reached across to pull Sam back and yelped at the unexpected cold that shot up his arm.
Oh, sweet mother of god, what was this?
He did snatch his hand away when Dean wrestled Sam’s unyielding body back onto the bed, his right wrist still firmly caught within Sam’s grip.
That had to hurt.
Their pain paled in comparison to what Sam was feeling if it knocked the breath right out of him. First things first, get the man breathing. Figure out the rest later.
Walsh heard the soft mantra of ‘nononono’ from Dean, and doubted he was even aware he was saying it.
Breathe, Sam. This would work better if you did.
Dean was as silent as his brother when Elliot reached over. He checked Sam’s pulse and a wave of heat swept over him, leaving him stunned.
What now?
Sam sucked in a huge shuddering breath, Dean followed suit, and Elliot went to work.
Whatever supernatural entity remained in Sam was fighting to stay. Elliot struggled a bit against the unknown qualities of it, until he realized that fighting against a bad thing was the same as fighting against any other bad thing. It helped that Sam was working to expel the intruder.
It was parasitic in nature, which made it harder to separate it from Sam. Elliot shook from the sheer amount of exertion it was taking to stay with his client, and to not give into the primal human instinct of recoiling from the utter wrongness of this thing.
-------
Walsh had one of his hands on Sam’s shoulder and the other hovering over the wound. The healer’s hands were shaking, and even in concentration, he looked repulsed.
Feeling the ugliness of whatever this was, Dean couldn’t blame him.
He reached out with his free hand to hold Walsh steady. Gunk wafting out of the wound could only be a good thing, and he wanted to make sure that Walsh and the salt got rid of it all.
Turning his head, Dean used his shoulder to wipe the sweat from his forehead, and felt Sam loosening his vise-like grip on his wrist.
Walsh must have cranked up the heat.
-------
Elliot felt Dean grip his shoulder and the steadying pressure grounded him, allowed him to dig further down .
Underneath Elliot’s hand, he felt Sam relax, and his breathing even out. Only then did Elliot permit the physical world to snap back into focus. He saw Dean peeling Sam’s hand from his wrist, and giving it a light squeeze before resting it on Sam’s stomach.
Sam was unconscious, but Elliot was pleased to find his pulse stronger, his color improved, his respirations even, and the general contentment of a healing, natural sleep. He was less surprised than he thought he would be to see the salt gone from the now more normal looking wound.
“So, did he come back to the light?”
Elliot grinned. “That he did.”
“Nice work there, Elrond.”
Elliot shook his head at the name.
Dean studied Sam for a moment. “That was different.”
“More than a little.”
“Huh?” Dean bemused and weary.
Recognizing that Dean would need some time to himself, Elliot jutted his chin toward the doorway. “Go get some sleep. Take my bed, I’ll stay with Sam for a while.”
And was surprised and touched when Dean agreed.
-------
Sam woke up feeling warm, very comfortable, and with an ache in his leg that was a far cry from the agony of before. This was normal.
And maybe it was a hallucination.
Outside the bedroom window, he spotted Dean planting flowers. He could swear they were flowers, but that was Dean.
Couldn’t be. He must still be running a fever. Didn’t feel like it. He really did feel better.
But Dean was planting flowers.
Sam fell back asleep.
Go to Epilogue