SPN fic: Letting 1/1
NOTE: Written for 31daysoffandom's red, white and blue challenge. Also fills the "archaic medical treatment" square on my hc_bingo card.
TWO OTHER NOTES: Due to the gore associated with this procedure, it is rated PG-13. Also for those of you who are like "Well, Cas doesn't sound like that anymore, that formal" --he sure does, whenever he's furious his speech tends to revert to formal diction. It's a brilliant acting choice by Misha Collins and I have written him deliberately formal to show his fury.
SUMMARY: All Sam could see was red.
Red. All Sam could see was red.
Red stained the floor, the walls, the bed - and in the midst of it was Dean.
For an insane moment Sam's vision went red and all he could see was Dean - out of his mind and high off the Mark - killing anything and everything that got in his way and a few things that didn't.
But no - this was very different than then. For one, Dean wasn't on his feet with the First Blade in his hand. He was on his back, eyes closed and face white as the pillowcase his head was propped on. His arm was dangling off the side of the bed.
And that's where the red was coming from. It was sluggishly dripping from his arm, rolling down his hand to plop with an insanely comical bloop into the bowl resting below him on the floor.
Sam whirled to the woman who had brought him into the room. "What the hell happened here?"
"He took ill," she said, and her strange way of speech reminded Sam again that this was a stranger to this time. "He would not drink and would not eat, so I decided to help him."
"Help him? How was this helping him?"
She crossed her arms and shot him a glare. "His temperature rose. His humours were clearly out of balance. His blood was running too hot, so I let him."
Sam shook his head. "You let him do what?"
"I let him," she repeated. "I opened a vein and allowed the blood to run freely. But the sleeping draught I gave him was too powerful and he won't awaken."
Sam gaped at her. "You bloodlethim? Oh my G-d..." And it was more a prayer than a curse. Dismissing her for the moment, he ran to Dean's side and lifted his arm over his head, pressing a swath of cloth to the wound and putting pressure on it.
She frowned, shaking her head. "What is it? It's the correct treatment for--"
"You could have killed him!" Sam closed his eyes. "Cas! Cas, help! Dean's bleeding out and we--"
He felt the air displace and a cool hand curl over his. "The wound is healed," Castiel's deep voice rumbled. "Feed him iron-rich food and make him rest. His blood will rebuild, though he will be tired. He is no longer in mortal danger."
The angel raised his eyes to the trembling woman in the doorway. "You, however, will be unless you return to your proper time. There is a sigil. I will draw it." He turned to Sam and waved a hand.
The blood was gone. Even the smell was gone. Sam looked over to find Castiel pulling the lady out of the room, and he knew that she would be home soon.
Dean slowly opened his eyes and looked at Sam. ".....tired...."
"I know," Sam said. "You just rest. I got your back."
Dean smiled and closed his eyes again. Seconds later, he was asleep.
Sam moved to the kitchen and got a light but filling supper ready for his brother - and dreaded the night that was coming.
He knew he'd probably be seeing red coating his dreams for nights to come.
TWO OTHER NOTES: Due to the gore associated with this procedure, it is rated PG-13. Also for those of you who are like "Well, Cas doesn't sound like that anymore, that formal" --he sure does, whenever he's furious his speech tends to revert to formal diction. It's a brilliant acting choice by Misha Collins and I have written him deliberately formal to show his fury.
SUMMARY: All Sam could see was red.
Red. All Sam could see was red.
Red stained the floor, the walls, the bed - and in the midst of it was Dean.
For an insane moment Sam's vision went red and all he could see was Dean - out of his mind and high off the Mark - killing anything and everything that got in his way and a few things that didn't.
But no - this was very different than then. For one, Dean wasn't on his feet with the First Blade in his hand. He was on his back, eyes closed and face white as the pillowcase his head was propped on. His arm was dangling off the side of the bed.
And that's where the red was coming from. It was sluggishly dripping from his arm, rolling down his hand to plop with an insanely comical bloop into the bowl resting below him on the floor.
Sam whirled to the woman who had brought him into the room. "What the hell happened here?"
"He took ill," she said, and her strange way of speech reminded Sam again that this was a stranger to this time. "He would not drink and would not eat, so I decided to help him."
"Help him? How was this helping him?"
She crossed her arms and shot him a glare. "His temperature rose. His humours were clearly out of balance. His blood was running too hot, so I let him."
Sam shook his head. "You let him do what?"
"I let him," she repeated. "I opened a vein and allowed the blood to run freely. But the sleeping draught I gave him was too powerful and he won't awaken."
Sam gaped at her. "You bloodlethim? Oh my G-d..." And it was more a prayer than a curse. Dismissing her for the moment, he ran to Dean's side and lifted his arm over his head, pressing a swath of cloth to the wound and putting pressure on it.
She frowned, shaking her head. "What is it? It's the correct treatment for--"
"You could have killed him!" Sam closed his eyes. "Cas! Cas, help! Dean's bleeding out and we--"
He felt the air displace and a cool hand curl over his. "The wound is healed," Castiel's deep voice rumbled. "Feed him iron-rich food and make him rest. His blood will rebuild, though he will be tired. He is no longer in mortal danger."
The angel raised his eyes to the trembling woman in the doorway. "You, however, will be unless you return to your proper time. There is a sigil. I will draw it." He turned to Sam and waved a hand.
The blood was gone. Even the smell was gone. Sam looked over to find Castiel pulling the lady out of the room, and he knew that she would be home soon.
Dean slowly opened his eyes and looked at Sam. ".....tired...."
"I know," Sam said. "You just rest. I got your back."
Dean smiled and closed his eyes again. Seconds later, he was asleep.
Sam moved to the kitchen and got a light but filling supper ready for his brother - and dreaded the night that was coming.
He knew he'd probably be seeing red coating his dreams for nights to come.