Something about an old-fashioned Christmas is hard to forget, FIC
Title: Something about an old-fashioned Christmas is hard to forget
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13 [for the word fuck]
Words: 508
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Sam comes home from a hunt, limping. Of course Dean has to take care of his younger brother-- it'd be quite the Christmas if his brother managed to bleed dry!
Disclaimer: None of this is owned by me, I'm not making any profit with this piece of fiction. Dean and Sam belong to Kripke and John too, and I am not messing with that man!
Author Notes: Kinda lame compared to what I usually write, but I'm not complaining. BECAUSE THIS PIECE OF FIC? It's my Christmas present to the ever-so-amazing angels_cordy! She wished for a limp!Sam-fic, and since I wanted to give her something back, I promised her fic. I hope you enjoy it, sweetie!
And to the rest of you? Merry Christmas!
Something about an old-fashioned Christmas is hard to forget
The minute Sam walks into the door of their motel, Dean knows something’s wrong. The younger Winchester is favoring his right side, slightly hunched over, with his arm carefully slung around his ribs.
Before Dean’s mind has even processed what’s going on, Dean is on his feet, patting his brother down for other injuries. Sam swats at him with his free hand, groaning out an exhausted, “Leave me alone, Dean.”
Dean ignores his brother’s weak protests and strips him off his jacket. The wound that Sam has must be huge, judging by the blood that’s already seeping through Sam’s several layers of clothing (Huh. Apparently those are good for something.).
“Fuck, Sam… what do I have to do to keep you from getting killed every time I turn my back on you?” Dean mutters, guiding Sam to the bed for him to sit down. His brother breathes out through his teeth, his face scrunched up in pain.
“Dean, get lost! I’ll be fine.” Sam growls, already trying to get up again. Damn Winchester pride.
The older Winchester grabs his younger brother’s face between his hands, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “You’re not bleeding out on me, you got me? Especially not on this night.” With that, Dean removes Sam’s last two shirts, finally getting a good look at the wound.
There’s blood oozing out of it, thankfully not too much to make Dean worry about his brother bleeding dry if he doesn’t stitch it up any time soon. Judging by the look of utter pain on Sam’s face every time he breathes in, at least two ribs are broken, but it’s nothing a buttload of Tylenol and other painkillers can’t “heal”.
Dean stitches the gash up and then stuffs some Tylenol down Sam’s throat, followed by a glass of water. While Sam’s still gulping down water, Dean’s already taking off his shoes, the socks and the pants, and then carefully maneuvers Sam into the bed.
“And now you sleep.” The older brother tells him, tucking Sam in, making sure he’s safe and warm.
Already half-asleep, Sam glares at his brother. “One of these days, Dean…” He yawns, and then his eyes close, his breathe evening out.
“I know, Sam. One a’these days, ya gonna kick my ass, and then you’ll take over the world with your wicked mind.” Dean grins before leaning down to kiss Sam’s head. When he’s sure that Sam really is asleep, Dean slides into the bed, snuggling close to his brother.
If Sam wakes in the morning, asking him just what the fuck Dean’s doing in his bed and if this is just one of his pranks, Dean will swat at him and tell him that ”Hell, even when you’re asleep I have to watch over you”.
“Merry Christmas, Sammy.” He whispers. The last thing he sees before drifting into a deep slumber are the blinking Christmas lights the house on the opposite site of the street has put up.
end
Pairing: Dean/Sam
Rating: PG-13 [for the word fuck]
Words: 508
Summary: It's Christmas Eve, and Sam comes home from a hunt, limping. Of course Dean has to take care of his younger brother-- it'd be quite the Christmas if his brother managed to bleed dry!
Disclaimer: None of this is owned by me, I'm not making any profit with this piece of fiction. Dean and Sam belong to Kripke and John too, and I am not messing with that man!
Author Notes: Kinda lame compared to what I usually write, but I'm not complaining. BECAUSE THIS PIECE OF FIC? It's my Christmas present to the ever-so-amazing angels_cordy! She wished for a limp!Sam-fic, and since I wanted to give her something back, I promised her fic. I hope you enjoy it, sweetie!
And to the rest of you? Merry Christmas!
Something about an old-fashioned Christmas is hard to forget
The minute Sam walks into the door of their motel, Dean knows something’s wrong. The younger Winchester is favoring his right side, slightly hunched over, with his arm carefully slung around his ribs.
Before Dean’s mind has even processed what’s going on, Dean is on his feet, patting his brother down for other injuries. Sam swats at him with his free hand, groaning out an exhausted, “Leave me alone, Dean.”
Dean ignores his brother’s weak protests and strips him off his jacket. The wound that Sam has must be huge, judging by the blood that’s already seeping through Sam’s several layers of clothing (Huh. Apparently those are good for something.).
“Fuck, Sam… what do I have to do to keep you from getting killed every time I turn my back on you?” Dean mutters, guiding Sam to the bed for him to sit down. His brother breathes out through his teeth, his face scrunched up in pain.
“Dean, get lost! I’ll be fine.” Sam growls, already trying to get up again. Damn Winchester pride.
The older Winchester grabs his younger brother’s face between his hands, forcing him to look him in the eyes. “You’re not bleeding out on me, you got me? Especially not on this night.” With that, Dean removes Sam’s last two shirts, finally getting a good look at the wound.
There’s blood oozing out of it, thankfully not too much to make Dean worry about his brother bleeding dry if he doesn’t stitch it up any time soon. Judging by the look of utter pain on Sam’s face every time he breathes in, at least two ribs are broken, but it’s nothing a buttload of Tylenol and other painkillers can’t “heal”.
Dean stitches the gash up and then stuffs some Tylenol down Sam’s throat, followed by a glass of water. While Sam’s still gulping down water, Dean’s already taking off his shoes, the socks and the pants, and then carefully maneuvers Sam into the bed.
“And now you sleep.” The older brother tells him, tucking Sam in, making sure he’s safe and warm.
Already half-asleep, Sam glares at his brother. “One of these days, Dean…” He yawns, and then his eyes close, his breathe evening out.
“I know, Sam. One a’these days, ya gonna kick my ass, and then you’ll take over the world with your wicked mind.” Dean grins before leaning down to kiss Sam’s head. When he’s sure that Sam really is asleep, Dean slides into the bed, snuggling close to his brother.
If Sam wakes in the morning, asking him just what the fuck Dean’s doing in his bed and if this is just one of his pranks, Dean will swat at him and tell him that ”Hell, even when you’re asleep I have to watch over you”.
“Merry Christmas, Sammy.” He whispers. The last thing he sees before drifting into a deep slumber are the blinking Christmas lights the house on the opposite site of the street has put up.
end