SPN: S&S: Square
Challenge word: Square
Meaning: A rectangle with 4 equal sides. Also, the definition I am using here: a knot made of two reverse half-knots and typically used to join the ends of two cords
Word Count: 500. *happy dance*
Time Frame: Any. Really.
Warnings/Spoilers: None that I can find. Potty Mouth Dean again?
"Damnit." Dean frowned at the red dripping off his fingers, falling to the floor of the Impala. "We got any other napkins or something in here?"
Sam glared over at him as he tried to steer despite the torrential downpour, and rummaged under the seat. "Quit making fists, dude. You're only making the blood flow faster." His fingers closed on terrycloth, and he pulled it out, frowning at the towel that had oil, antifreeze, and god knows what other fluids on it.
"That'll work."
"Dean. It's filthy." Sam made to stash it back under, but Dean lunged across the seat, snatching it with the practice of twenty-some years, and wrapped his hand in it.
"It's not like I'm wrapping it around the actual injury, dumbass. I'm just keeping the blood off the car. Besides, gotten oil into cuts before. Doesn't hurt it any."
Sam decided that silence was the better option, sighing as he peered through the flood of rain. He was thankful he had made it out of the poltergeist without any injuries, but Dean had instinctively thrown his arm up as the hatchet had come whizzing through the air at him. The thing had no aim, thankfully, but it had clipped Dean's arm pretty deep. His own button-up was wrapped tightly around it, the shirt slowly turning red, and Sam -really-didn't like the way Dean's freckles were obviously noticeable now, or the way his hand shook where it rested on the edge of the window frame.
"I'm fine." Dean's eyes were dark and knowing.
"I know. Still don't like you bleeding all over the car. Couldn't have ducked, could you?"
Dean chuckled wryly. "I did. Didn't hear it in time. Coulda been worse."
Sam inclined his head in agreement, images of various past wounds flashing through his mind. He'd gotten a good look at the gash as he had wrapped it…it wasn't bad. A few stitches, some good rest, and Dean would be his annoying self in no time.
"Are you going to sit still, or am I going to have to tie your arm down?" Sam growled, yanking Dean's wrist back to him to finish the square knot he was tying in the nylon thread.
"Not my fault." The words were a little slurred, quiet in the darkness, and Sam felt a flash of guilt. Of course Dean didn't mean to, but it was still frustrating to continually pull the arm back towards him.
"I know. Only a few more, and you're good." Sixteen stitches marched their way around Dean's arm by the time he was done, the clear fishing line invisible against the gold of Dean's skin. A smoothing of antibiotic ointment, a quick wrap with gauze to keep it from drying out or snagging on sheets, a squeeze of a tense shoulder, and Dean was done, patched up for another night. It never easier, stitching his brother, but there was the flash of warmth that Dean would rather him do it than a professional.
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